


Vision im Spiegel

by Solitary_Shadow



Series: The Silenceverse - 'Mein Gott, hilf mir diese tödliche Liebe zu überleben' [5]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Cake, M/M, Sequel, Sexy, Smut, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitary_Shadow/pseuds/Solitary_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Full etiquette has to be observed when it comes to the final step that Till and Richard ought to take; but after all those years, how can it anything less than worth it? The sweet and smutty sequel to 'Silence'. Set mid-2011, Till/Richard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Die Vorbereitung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein, this is strictly a work of fiction and I do not profit nor claim to represent true aspects of their lives in this story.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> After being announced via my fanfic widget for God knows how many months, Vision im Spiegel has finally begun proper. I originally planned it out to be a twoshot, but of course me being me that didn't work out as planned. So I have broken it up into three parts for the enjoyment of everyone. This part serves as an lengthy introduction for what they're about to do in the next two chapters, basically. Please enjoy!

**Vision im Spiegel (Part 1)** \- _A 'Silence' Sequel_  
  
Reading 'Silence' would be a good idea before this one; but even if you don't, it's specifically written so that it can be enjoyed as a simple Till/Richard romance. But I would recommend it so the full impact gets through.  
  
\----------------------------  
  
The department store is busy as always, even in the height of a Berlin midsummer; young girls in skirts and tight tops and men wearing shorts are everywhere to be found amidst the bustling crowd. And yet it is not a disruptive kind of liveliness; no one is fighting over goods or talking in an overtly loud voice, and the food courts are only half-full, people going about their business in a brisk and efficient manner.  
  
It is this kind of crowded atmosphere that Richard Kruspe has sorely missed during his time in New York. " _Danke_ ," he says to a vendor who's just sold him a plain, but particularly nice Café frappé; he sips at the coffee as he walks around, browsing, and nods approvingly at the sweet taste. There are times when the simple things in life are most appreciated, and this is one of them. He's wearing a buttoned-down black dress shirt and trousers, and for once he doesn't have any product in his hair - he's been walking around for about an hour now, lazily admiring the items on display.  
  
He's managed to find some time off to do some shopping; a few plain shirts and a visit to the music shop, picking up a tin of cream guitar polish and some more chamois cloths. Nothing very elaborate. But really, right now he's more focused on something special - he's looking for a _present,_ and finding just the right item is proving to be rather troublesome.  
  
But he won't give up. He's generally good with finding the right gift for anyone, and he's fairly confident that his skill will measure up this time around as well.  
  
He enters a shop selling formal wear for men. It is not a large one, but beautifully cleaned and the lighting and decor are good; he's the only customer in there at the moment. Suits and jackets aren't exactly items that sell well during summer - the only assistant working right now looks almost bored and dazed, mindlessly thumbing through a mail-order catalogue. Richard can't honestly blame him. He walks around casually, glancing at the racks of clothes, before he pauses in front of a collection of belt buckles.  
  
"Too small," he mumbles to himself, and then turns to see three tall, circular racks stacked with boxed neckties. This gets his attention; ties tend to be things that can be bought and appreciated regardless of season, if one makes a sensible choice. He reaches up to one of the racks and picks up a box after first carefully placing the shopping bag down at his feet; the shop assistant, seeing that he is intent on doing more than just browsing, perks up considerably and starts paying proper attention to him. Richard isn't thinking about that right now, however - he's examining the tie very closely, completely serious and observant in the way that he always is when buying items of clothing. The guitarist isn't one to prioritize a factor over another when it comes to clothing; it has to have it all, fit, colour, comfort, the right material, everything. It's an intricate pearl-grey number that he's picked up now, with thin, diagonal silver pinstripes running throughout.  
  
"Too light," he murmurs to himself as he replaces the box in its place. It'd be good for his own figure, but right now that's not the issue. He picks up another necktie, this time a plain black one, but puts that one back just as quickly.  
  
 _Almost all of the ties he has are black or too-dark, anyway. I want the one I give him to be special._  
  
And then he sees it. Higher up, he spots a flash of green and pulls the box down; it's a soft pastel-green number, patternless and very subdued in tone with the faintest hint of teal. Not a colour that anybody can pull off with ease, and perhaps a few years ago Richard wouldn't even have noticed it. But this is now, and he does have to admit - the more he's staring at the tie, the more he's finding himself drawn to it, and he's not the only person that has noticed this.  
  
" _Guten Tag, kann ich Ihnen helfen?_ "  
  
The young, sweet-faced assistant has come to stand beside him. Richard briefly considers dismissing him with a polite ' _nein, danke_ ' but decides that it'd be rather unproductive to do so; anyway, what'd be the sense in that, when there is something the man can help him with? " _Ja._ What can you tell me about this one? The material, price...?"  
  
The assistant takes the box in his hands and peers into it. "Ah, this one. This is one of our finer ties - woven silk, 145 centimeters in length. You have fine taste."  
  
"Do you have one of those on display that I could try out?"  
  
"Of course. Just open the box, Herr," the assistant says brightly; when Richard gives him a look, however, he blushes and hastily explains himself. "... I don't mean that we sell items that have been repeatedly opened and tried on! I do apologize for the confusion. All the boxed ties up there-" he gestured at the rack. "-are specially available just so customers can try them on, right on the spot. The actual unopened boxes are behind the counter and these are the ones that are sold."  
  
This makes sense. Richard nods and opens up the box, admiring the length and feel of the necktie between his fingers; it is very soft, but the weave is tight and the stitching at the back is flawless. If this is what a tie that's been tried on and put back into the box many times looks like, Richard imagines that the new deal would be even more impressive. The assistant guides him towards a half-length mirror; he adjusts his shirt and places the tie around his neck; his black neck collar is showing, but if the assistant's noticed, he's done a good job of not commenting on it. With a simple four-by-hand he ties the silk garment deftly around his neck and adjusts the length - and then looks, silently.  
  
It looks all right on him, but it's not the colour that he'd have chosen for himself. Indeed, he's probably a little too sharp-looking for the tie to suit him. But he doesn't have himself in mind. Staring into the reflection, he envisions _Till_ in his place - with his larger form, soft lips and those melancholy glass-green eyes - and nods in approval. He's fairly confident that this will be appreciated.  
  
"I'll take this one. I like it."  
  
"Ah, of course!" the assistant looks a little surprised - he probably shared Richard's initial notion about it not being quite the necktie for him - but he nevertheless takes the tie and rolls it up neatly before placing it in the box. "let me just check the number there... _neunundsechszig, ja_..." he then walks behind the counter and deftly pulls out a blue box, with the new green tie nestled within it. "... and that'd be 41 Euros, _bitte_."  
  
"Here's my card."  
  
" _Vielen Dank_. Are you buying it for yourself to wear?"  
  
"No," Richard says, and before he can control himself his face lights up in a smile. "it's for a very, _very_ good friend of mine. If I could have that boxed and gift-wrapped as well, _bitte._ "  
  
\-----  
  
When his ' _Ich bin daheim!_ ' goes unanswered, Richard figures that Till's gone out as well. Kicking off his shoes, he arranges them neatly by the door and locks it, entering the apartment and breathing in the scent of apple-and-cinnamon air freshener that he has come to regard as homely in the past few weeks. Whistling quietly to himself, he goes to fish out the tin of guitar polish and the pieces of chamois cloth, pushing open the door to the practice room and placing them beside his guitars, setting himself a reminder that he ought to get to work on polishing them sometime later on in the day.  
  
Till's room is next. He smiles as he enters the room; the bed is tidied and empty, but somehow he can't help but feel that he might have found the singer curled up underneath the covers. Till's room tends to be split into two halves when it comes to tidiness; the side with the bed, dresser and window is always clean, while the desk and wastebasket tends to be strewn messily with books and crumpled up pieces of paper that haven't managed to become anything of literary value. Today is no exception. Sometimes he has a look at some of the pieces that Till considers a failure, and sometimes he is inclined to disagree; but if the man feels that way, there isn't much that Richard can do about it. It's at least good that the death-of-the-author theory is fully in place between them and the singer feels comfortable with Richard reading them at all.  
  
Brushing the pieces of paper aside, the guitarist feels obliged to at least tidy the pile of books on the desk, and while he's doing that a framed photo on the shelf above catches his eye. It's a simple one, a little photo of he and the older man sitting together in a bar and glancing roughly in the same direction with the same look of general apathy on their faces. Definitely one of them together, and filled with a tension that the two of them would instantly recognize - but completely nondescript and not a photo that anyone else would be able to appreciate fully. It makes him laugh and he thinks fondly as to how _very much like Till_ that is, and how the older man's still so full of surprises like those even though they've been living as flatmates for the past month.  
  
A full month. A month since they confessed their feelings for one another after over seventeen years of waiting. A month since they've adjusted to living together, a month away from prying eyes, a month spent in secretive bliss. It is this that Richard has bought the necktie to commemorate, and to express how grateful he is that Till has allowed him to stay with him; he takes out the boxed and gift-wrapped tie and sets it upon the middle of the desk, smoothing down the elegant gold-and-black wrapping paper. A part of his mind still thinks that he ought to find another place to live as not to inconvenience the man, but - why hurry, when he and the singer are so content living like this together?  
  
If anything, he probably ought to _buy_ someplace nice and quiet where they can reside _together_ without worrying about rent or anything like that. But he likes to think that that's something for when Rammstein is no more, and they've still got a little while left before that can feasibly happen. As long as Till doesn't mind his presence, he's happy to stay with him and contribute to his share of rent and work around the apartment.  
  
He should go now. With one last look at Till's gift, the guitarist nods and closes the door behind him as he leaves. His room's only a few steps away from Till's; he goes inside and tosses the shopping bag (now considerably lighter) on the bed and makes as if to change out of his clothes when something on his desk catches his eye.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
When he recognizes it, though, he grins happily and rushes over. It's a beige envelope with his name and the date written on it in familiar handwriting; considering the date, it was about time, too. He sits down on his desk with a smile as he opens up the letter, putting the envelope aside. As he expected, four handwritten pages are inside, all dated and numbered meticulously. "Oh, Till."  
  
Till still writes him letters, once a week now, despite the fact that they're living together and there is no actual need to. They're never redundant, though. While the two men never run out of things to discuss, and while they certainly don't find it awkward to talk to each other, Till's letters discuss things that cannot be expressed accurately just by sitting and talking to each other for a few minutes. They convey an extra layer of romance also, quite often. So Richard is simply expecting the singer's own reflection on what their shared week has been like, just like the contents of the other letters, when he starts reading.  
  
He doesn't know that this one is different to the others that came before.  
  
\-----  
  
 _Lieber Richard,  
  
Guten Tag, meine Schatz. I'm writing this letter at two in the morning; when you go out to shop, I will leave this on your desk and go to visit my family and then take care of some things in town before I return. So if you're reading this now, I imagine that you're back from shopping. How was it? Was the place busy? I hope that you found everything that you needed. I look forward to coming back and talking about it with you already, and you haven't even gone yet. Anticipation sets in at the oddest times, don't you think?  
  
This is my fourth letter to you since we began living together. I believe today marks the first full month, in fact. It has been one of the happiest months of my life, finally being able to live with you like this - it almost seems blasphemous that we ought to tell the others soon about our relationship and break the peace, or it would be so if they didn't suspect it already. I think they all have a gist of what's going on - and I don't exactly know your opinion on this matter, but I admit to being quite the mischievous child when it comes to this and I will say that I'd like to keep them guessing just a little longer!  
  
And regarding that, I do implore you, for you've seemed concerned for the past few days - please don't feel as if that you are imposing on me. Having you staying with me was not a problem in the days before Rammstein, and it is not a problem now. This isn't the pleading of a lonely old man, either. You are special to me, my Richard, and you have been away in another country for a long time. Being able to look at you every day just by stepping out of my room, being able to make you a breakfast or hearing you practicing your guitar, and waking up to you murmuring in my ear - 'Guten Morgen' - ah, nothing can be more of a blessing. I only hope that my presence is also good for you, and that you are comfortable enough in this apartment. If there's anything lacking, then do - as I've said before - tell me what it is, bitte.  
  
I always seem to end up writing letters to you when it's late at night. I write at all hours, but you know that my muse comes to me most often during sleepless nights - and I think this is also the case with you. Night unveils all pretensions. I want to offer nothing but the utmost honesty in those letters to you. I feel glad that these letters reach you faster, at the very least; when you were in the US I would write a letter, send it off first thing in the morning, and every day I spent wondering when your reply would come was beautiful agony.  
  
You inquired to me about poems last week. I've been thinking about it and as I sit here and write this I can confirm that I have a good idea in mind for a single. I will likely begin work on it during the next couple of days - when it's done, what do you feel about having Olli over for a bassline session within the next couple of weeks? Do you think it'd be better that we go over to his place, or that he comes over to here? Please think on it and let me know._  
  
This might just seem like a straightforward question from Till's part, but Richard has read between the lines. This makes him pause a little, the pages held in his hand, as he ponders on the idea - the tone of this letter is different to the previous ones. Till has never mentioned making their relationship known until this point; he's clearly wanting to know if Richard wants to advance the status of their relationship to a sligtly-less-private one, and he suddenly feels rather unsure about what else his lover might have written about.  
  
 _A photoshoot-and-interview session tomorrow. I hope you are adequately prepared; but there is no sense in me worrying about you in that regard. You are always well-prepared for times like those, Richard. I do have to admit that I find them rather exhausting and unnecessary nowadays, but what can we do? I'd gladly endure it, as long as you were by my side. So by all means, viel Glück for all of us.  
  
It will be wonderful to see you in your stage get-up again, if nothing else. Which brings me to the issue that I have spent the past couple of pages shying away from. _  
  
"... Till...?"  
  
 _I'd like to start out by apologizing for what happened two nights ago - I know that you weren't offended, but nevertheless, it wasn't exactly polite of me. It's simply hard to bear, sometimes.  
  
Since becoming your 'Freund' - in the decidedly more-than-civil sense - I have been dreaming of you often. I don't just mean at night. It is as if you have pushed out the minor, inconsequential thoughts that would occupy my mind when I wasn't writing or going on with daily life and have settled down in the remaining space. I think of you lying next to me. I think of you smiling at me, your smile honest and true as always, and I think of your hands upon my body or mine upon yours. For the touch of your hands are immensely distinctive; you could blindfold me, seal off every sense save for touch, and I would know you from the second your fingers pressed upon my skin. I dream of your kiss, your lips satin-soft upon my scarred body, calming and arousing at the same time.  
  
You are a man full of contradictions, of binary opposites, and I would like nothing more than to love and possess it all.  
  
I now have the privilege of being able to watch you sleep next to me. Whenever I do, I kiss your forehead, hold your hand, and wonder if I am selfish (and please tell me if I am) for wanting more, wanting to please you, wanting to taste more than just your kiss upon my tongue. 'Mehr', that simple word, 'mehr' - press the lips lightly together, hum through the vocal cords lightly, then pry them apart with a soft exhaled sigh. Strange how such an effortless word can carry so much sensuality.  
  
I would like to be able to coax that word from your lips. I would like to be able to watch you, enjoy you, as you actively desire more from me. And I know that you are open to the idea at the very least, from what you showed me the first night we spent together in this place.  
  
During all those nights spent awake, these words emerged like bubbles, and tonight I have finally mustered up the courage to write them down for you to read. So... by all means-_  
  
Richard pauses there and sets down the letter. He's still got about a page to go, but his head's gone completely blank.  
  
Of course he knew this was coming. He's known it for a while, ever since that day when he and Till became a couple. And it would be a lie to say that Richard is at all surprised that the topic's come up now; but it's not just as simple as agreeing to have sex and then getting on with it, not at their age and not when they still have band responsibilities. He imagines that it's taken the older man quite a fair amount of courage to come out and write it in a letter, and he really ought not to undermine it. And that means that he should keep on reading. Thought can wait until then.  
  
 _-So... by all means, would you like to consider consummating our relationship at some point in the near future?  
  
Please don't keep it in mind if it bothers you. Your comfort is what I care about the most. Just the sensation of your body next to mine, your head resting on my chest when we're lying in bed together is enough for me. For you see, my Richard, my love for you makes itself known not in the desire to make love to you - that's a desire that one feels for an infinite number of others in their life - but the desire to share sleep. You close your eyes and your breathing slows on the pillow next to mine and I feel almost eternally peaceful.  
  
Believe me. I wouldn't give that up for anything.  
  
This letter is getting long now. I hope this week was also enjoyable for you. I believe I'll be baking a Kirschtorte sometime soon; until later then, meine Liebe.  
  
Dein Till Lindemann.  
  
\-----  
  
Your Till Lindemann._ Simple yet intensely romantic. Whenever he reads those words of closure that always end Till's letters, he feels something warm in his heart and the utter conviction that Till is finally all his to love and cherish, after all those years of heartache. Names are very important things, the condensation of identity, and just being able to have that reassurance is enough. Richard did spend a little while after they'd entered their relationship wondering whether he could make use of nicknames or affectionate terms towards Till, and he does remember it being a rather interesting experience.  
  
 _... So... what do I call you now? 'Tillchen'...?_  
  
He did call Till that, just once, about a week after he moved in. He tried it out as a spur-of-the-moment thing; Till gave him such an adorably confused look at that that Richard had just burst into laughter, and then after a little hug and explanation they'd basically just agreed to stick to their already-established names. (The guitarist does prefer his full name being used, now that they've entered this kind of intimacy, though.) The memory makes him grin - but it fades to a more serious look as he reads the last couple of pages again.  
  
 _I've got to hand it to Till, though. This is probably the most polite way that I've ever been asked as to whether I want to have sex._  
  
He folds up the pages and slides them back into the envelope. On one of the shelves above the desk is the seventeen-year old basket that Till made just for him, the very last one he would ever weave; he's carried on his tradition of keeping the older man's letters in there, and after gently placing the envelope into the basket he picks it up and sits back down, placing it on his lap. Large and tarnished, but still sturdy. Nothing less could be expected of anything that Till makes. Richard gently runs his hand over the handle of the basket and over the reed-woven sides, letting out a small 'hmm' as he loses himself in contemplation.  
  
"What should I do...?" he asks softly, closing his arms around the basket and feeling its reassuringly smooth texture; because it's been with him for so long and the presence of those letters, when Till's away this basket is the closest embodiment of him that Richard can really get. It offers no answers, as expected, but it's nevertheless comforting to hold onto. Strange to think that the first time he saw the basket being made, he'd been somewhat jealous of the attention that Till had been lavishing on it - when it'd been intended for Richard all along. He smiles quietly at the memory, closing his eyes.  
  
He revises the past month in his head. They show their affection for each other in various ways, but aren't yet blatant about it. Till and Richard being in love with one another is completely known and silently acknowledged amongst the band, but they aren't yet aware of the fact that they've actually entered a relationship; being middle-aged, the two genuinely do appreciate the moments of youthful secrecy that they can still engage in. Sooner or later it'll have to be told, but they're only a month in, they can keep their fledgling love to themselves for now. During band meetings they are reserved and act perfectly innocent with each other - but still allow the others the rare pleasure of seeing them sharing little looks and smiles, and occasionally when no one else is looking they briefly squeeze each other's hands. They're like that in public most of the time. It's only within the confinement of their shared flat that they can let themselves be openly affectionate.  
  
Till's done his best to be a good host to Richard, a responsibility that he's taken beyond being the younger man's friend and lover. He constantly asks if Richard needs anything and gives him the occasional little treats; never in the form of cliched flower-and-chocolates, but in ways that make the guitarist smile in surprised delight. Waking him up with a hot cup of morning coffee, bringing him scrambled eggs for breakfast that have tiny slivers of smoked salmon and sprinkles of pepper added to them, letting Richard hear him singing softly around the house. In return Richard shows his appreciation by cleaning up frequently, leaving small notes with suggestions for lyrics and melodies on Till's desk, treating Till with the occasional massages on the back and knees, and also making the meals every now and then. They're both good cooks from having lived by themselves and having been single fathers as well, and it shows. They curl up together on the sofa often, watching a movie, snacking, trying out new songs or even managing to just talk themselves to slumber throughout the night. For the past month, it's worked out perfectly and Richard honestly couldn't be happier.  
  
And then there's the issue of sleeping.  
  
They do have separate rooms and sleep in individual beds half the time, although both of them infinitely prefer sleeping together. It doesn't generally matter which bed; one of them usually will go to bed first, and if the other hasn't crept under the covers with them by midnight, that's the cue that they are to sleep independently for whatever reason - perhaps Richard is working on a piece of music and maintaining his guitars in the soundproofed room, or perhaps Till's had a burst of creativity that's making him scribble throughout the night. Or perhaps they just want some space. That's perfectly fine. It just makes the times when Richard finds himself cuddled up against the older man's back or feels the other's head resting next to his even more precious.  
  
They haven't made love yet; after that first night, they've taken it very slowly for sure. Richard likes it that way. They usually sleep together in light pajamas but occasionally strip down to just boxers, getting more and more comfortable seeing each other in various states of undress. Kissing and playful fondling is the norm, with them occasionally - shyly - delving into more intimate things. Richard looks down at the envelope and thinks back to the event that Till mentioned, what happened just two nights ago - they had been lying in bed together, Richard drifting off with his back to Till, when he'd felt the other shift towards him slightly and spoon him from behind.  
  
"Richard," Till had murmured in his ear, voice low with sleep and barely concealed longing. The guitarist closes his eyes and recalls the other's warm body against his back - along with the sensation of Till pressing an erection into his thigh, and blushes heavily at the memory.  
  
"Yes, Till."  
  
Till hadn't answered. He'd just nuzzled Richard on the back of his neck for some minutes, silent, only his slightly quicker-than-normal breathing and his arousal betraying his longing. "Do you want me?" Richard remembers asking ever so quietly, even though the question was moot, feeling his own member stir and body beginning to flush at the touch before he turned around to face Till.  
  
The singer's eyes had been smoldering with love and lust, their colour vibrant even by the dimness of the moonlight. "I want you very, very much."  
  
Richard hadn't said anything for a while. Then he'd shifted up on the bed to kiss Till, their almost-nude bodies pressed tight, eager and full of desire. He thinks of it now and he's still blushing at how into it they both had been - they didn't progress a huge amount because Richard pulled away first with a little ' _tut mir leid_ ' and simply contented himself with holding the singer in his sleep, but since their first night spent together in the apartment that's the furthest they've gone. He supposes that the older man's feeling guilty about that, about the possibility that he might have made him terribly uncomfortable.  
  
He didn't pull away back then because of that, though. He pulled away because he was just happy enough with being able to love and feel Till in that way -  there really is no sense in hurrying. _Though... if he's eager to take it further, then... well, I certainly wouldn't mind..._  
  
But that's not to say that he only feels lust when Till's initiating it. Often brief images dance behind his eyes, images of what he would do to Till; it's inevitable. Richard is a man, and one who needs his desires fulfilled at some point. Maybe ten years ago he might have given into temptation and coaxed Till into it, or perhaps sought physical solace elsewhere with other company - but now he's nearly forty-five, too mature and devoted to the man that he's loved and wanted for so long to even consider such alternatives. Now that they've waited so long - well, what's the sense in rushing into it, when they've been patient for years already? He does allow himself one thing, however - and that is the act of pleasuring himself. Sometimes, during the nights when he's sleeping by himself, he closes his eyes and lets himself fantasize - his hands exploring his own body, soft groans and sighs escaping his lips (ever so quietly, as to not wake Till - he might be impatient, but Richard is a man of impeccable manners), feeling both satisfaction and emptiness whenever he reaches climax and it fades away.  
  
He does wonder if Till does the same, too. It wouldn't surprise him all that much - he would be quite flattered, actually. But pleasuring oneself is exactly that, only limited to a single self, wholly unrepresentative of what it might be like with an actual partner. And so far, he hasn't spoken up out of respect for their friendship and Till wanting to bide his time.  
  
Well, Till has expressed it now. Twice in less than a week, nonetheless. That's a fairly clear sign that he's ready, and that Richard ought to prepare himself, too.  
  
He stands up again and replaces the basket by its place on the shelf, pondering as to what to do next. Does Till mean for him to come clean and tell him upfront what he thinks of the idea? The singer's known for his spectacular bluntness when need be, after all. But then Richard thinks over it again and decides that this isn't the right way to approach the situation - Till doesn't tend to discuss his letters verbally. What he says in speech and what he says in writing are rather different things, and Richard certainly understands that - this also means that his letters are best answered with another letter. Once a week the older man gives him a letter, and after two days or so the guitarist hands him a reply; he might be able to pour out his feelings within one day this time, hopefully. Sitting down on his desk, he plucks out a fountain pen from a drawer and smiles as he begins to write: _Lieber Till..._  
  
\-----  
  
The singer isn't due back for a while. Richard finishes a third of his letter and takes a brief smoke break; but instead of leaning over the balcony, he leaves the flat and walks to the shop down the road as soon as he figures out that he's only got one cigarette to last him through the rest of the day. He smokes that one on his way to the shop, sitting down on a bench to savor it properly; the midsummer sun shines down into his eyes and he squints a little, pulling his sunglasses out from his bag and putting it on before he exhales pearly smoke into the air.  
  
Sometimes he ponders as to whether he ought to quit. It's not very good for him. Till himself has cut down significantly, although they do spend a few minutes every day smoking together out on the balcony - because of this, Richard doubts he'll be able to stop completely, not when it'll result in a loss of one of his and his lover's shared moments. That makes him smile and feel a bit empty at the same time.  
  
Still. If Till implored him to quit, or if they could quit together, he might be able to do it. But for now he enjoys the final taste of the smoke, letting the aroma fade away on the tip of his tongue, before he stubs it out on a nearby ashtray and tosses it in the bin. A large ginger tabby cat is walking past the bench; it has bright green eyes and one corner of its right ear is tattered from (presumably) too many fights. He bends down to stroke its back as it trots in front of him, grasping lightly at its tail, and it turns around to meow haughtily at him before hurrying on its way.  
  
" _Tschüss!_ " he calls back, chuckling to himself. He is very much like a mischievous boy sometimes. He can't really help it.  
  
Probably a tomcat patrolling its territory, he thinks as he leans back on the bench and watches the cat - it's stopped a distance away to stare at some flowers by the road - and thinking of its green eyes and oddly-disdainful demeanor reminds him of Till. _But then,_ he tells himself, _doesn't anything remind me of Till nowadays?_  
  
Richard misses him. Only a few hours apart and he's longing for the older man already. With that in mind, he gets up and starts walking towards the shop again, thinking about Till and the contents of his letter. _Would you like to consider consummating our relationship at some point in the near future,_ he asked, and to that technically the guitarist doesn't need to write a letter in response.  
  
"Yes," he murmurs under his breath. "I would. As soon as possible."  
  
But at the same time it feels a little anticlimactic to come right out and say it, so he does decide that he's still going to stick with the letter. If he's being realistic, however, he ought to be prepared just in case that Till isn't just yet - so when he walks into the shop, he nervously checks to see if there's anyone else in the place apart from him. Luckily, there's only a young girl who's just getting her purchases rung up now, and the cashier's a man. _Good. It's not going to be too awkward, then._  
  
He's wrong, however. Richard waits until the girl pushes the doors open and leaves the shop; then he goes over to the section marked ' _Toilettenartikel_ ', picking up a tube of lubricant and a box of twelve condoms. Six Euros. Condoms are entirely too expensive nowadays. While he's there he also remembers that there's no more plastic wrap left in the flat, so he figures that he'll get himself a box of that as well. It's not until he goes to the counter and the cashier gives him a look like he doesn't know whether to be turned on or terrified that he realizes that his choice in items might have been rather questionable. He guesses that his neck collar isn't helping.  
  
"One packet of HB along with those, _bitte_ ," Richard nevertheless says politely, and the items are scanned and bagged without much question. (The young man doesn't meet his eye, however.) He leaves, feeling mildly flustered and yet also amused; but nothing much else.  
  
He puts it down to age. Had he been any younger he might have been rather mortified. But he doesn't feel that at all - he just feels as if he's prepared adequately for Till, and that's all that should matter. He has had to grow older, after all.  
  
When he gets back, Till is still nowhere to be seen and the letter is still lying on his desk, undisturbed. He puts the box of plastic wrap on the kitchen counter and hides the condoms and lube in his bag before he sits down to get back to writing.  
  
He's quite happy that they've carried on writing to each other. Richard is still not quite as versed in the art of letter-writing as the older man might be, but he's improving; he's even started to write more than the other sometimes, having become more accustomed to condensing his feelings down in written form and being eager to convey as much of himself to Till as possible. It's gotten to the extent that he'll sometimes sit there and wonder why they didn't start corresponding via letters much earlier; it might have saved them a lot of trouble and have eliminated many of the misunderstandings that they've suffered throughout the years. He pauses - he finds it difficult to hold a pen for very long, because of how calloused his fingers are - and skims over the first few sentences, checking that it doesn't sound awkward.  
  
 _Much thanks for the letter. It was a beautiful surprise to have found it on my desk after a few hours' worth of shopping; thanks to its presence, I did not miss you quite as sharply as I am prone to feeling whenever I come back to an empty apartment. That of course doesn't mean that I don't miss you right now, I do, and that's why I'm writing this letter to you now, even when I know that it's not by any means necessary..._  
  
But then again, without those moments, their relationship might not have matured to this extent. One can't learn about someone else from smooth-sailing moments alone. Skimming down a few more lines, he gets to the paragraph that he was writing.  
  
 _... surprised, but by no means was it an unpleasant surprise. And there's no need to apologize to me, Till. I wasn't offended or uncomfortable with you; I wanted you too, very badly. I can confess to that. There isn't much point in me hiding it._ He takes it from there, again, and quietly lets his flowing handwriting fill up the lines, the soft rasp of the fountain pen nib against the paper immensely pleasing to his ears. _And maybe if I were much younger I wouldn't have passed up the chance, but I am forty-four now and starting to sense the past in the present. I can't bring myself to be overtly crude as I once was, not to you, never to you.  
  
So to answer your question-_  
  
The fountain pen runs out of ink at this point. Richard tuts to himself and carefully takes the pen apart after pushing the letter aside, discarding the cartridge and pushing in a new one, but this little interruption has proven to be sufficient in having led the man to lose his chain of thought. While it's not a plight unknown to writers - he's seen Till despair after losing a particularly good sentence or phrase before, and during his life so far he's managed to recover nowhere near all of them - it's nevertheless a bother, to have this happen to him while writing about a very important topic.  
  
He sighs and gently arranges the unfinished letter back on the desk. Rubbing his eyes, he sees that it's slightly over three o'clock in the afternoon; he's quite tired already. It's been an eventful day, for sure. He could do with a lie down. Richard makes his way to the bed and lies down upon it, splayed out on the soft cool mattress, and closes his eyes lazily - the letter and the image of Till floating to the surface of his thoughts - and exhales a sigh.  
  
 _I'll take a little nap_ , he thinks to himself as he feels drowsiness overtaking him. _And by the time I wake up, he's probably going to be back and it'll be near dinnertime. I'd like to squeeze in some practice time... and then - and then, hopefully I'll have thought of something to write.  
  
It needs to be good. He won't be disappointed._  
  
\-----  
  
" _Amour, amour..._ "  
  
Richard awakes to the distant strands of a soft, melancholy song playing in the apartment. It's muffled because he has his door shut, but he recognizes it instantly. Before even opening his eyes he reacts to the song almost as if he has a cue to follow, before he nearly falls off the bed and remembers that he is no longer on tour; it has been years since they even played that one live. _Oops. Well, can't blame me for reacting on instinct alone._  
  
" _Alle wollen nur dich zähmen..._ "  
  
He's not sure why this song is playing, but it means Till's back home, seeing as _Richard_ certainly didn't put it on. Richard stretches his body, wincing a little and then sighing in relief as his back creaks, before he gets out of bed and throws the covers back over the mattress. The half-finished letter is at his desk; perhaps he ought to finish it, but he's only just woken up and he can't exactly muster up the words just yet.  
  
"What time is it?" he mumbles to himself, and looks at the clock. Twenty to seven. He's had a nice three-hour nap. Rubbing his eyes, he figures that he ought to go and say hello to Till - he doesn't leave the room until he's checked that he's looking presentable, however. When he opens the door, 'Amour' is fading out with its final strands and solo, and Richard walks around wondering what the next song is going to be.  
  
"Till?"  
  
There is no answer. There is a lovely sweet smell wafting in from the kitchen, though, so Richard turns his footsteps towards there in search of his lover. He does smile when the vaguely-drifting keyboard solo at the start of 'Keine Lust' starts up somewhere in the house, however; Till must be playing their entire songlist and set it to shuffle, as he sometimes does when he's in a particularly good mood. That's a great sign. When he gets there, though, he doesn't find Till - but what he does find makes his eyes light up and leads him to rush over to the counter. The fan oven is turned off but still whirring, clearly having been used not too long ago; there are two mixing bowls in the sink filled with water, and on the counter are two used cake tins and scatters of what he recognizes as cake crumbs. _Chocolate_ cake crumbs.  
  
 _Mein Gott, that can only mean..._  
  
He opens the fridge. What he sees there makes him beam with delight; Till has apparently baked his promised _Kirschtorte_ a lot sooner than was indicated in the letter. It's fully assembled and iced; clearly, it hasn't been in the fridge for long. Richard takes the cake out and lets the fridge door swing shut, placing the dish on the counter with another quick look at the time. He hasn't had dinner yet - but it wouldn't hurt to taste just a little bit, would it now, when this is his favourite cake?  
  
He gazes at it with a critical eye. It's probably about three or four layers high; the sweet buttercream frosting is covering the cake in its entirety, so he can't really tell. The top of it is studded with perfectly-round glace cherries, outlined at the edges with whipped cream. Letting out a 'hmm', Richard nods to himself - then goes to fetch himself a butter knife before cutting a little sliver off the bottom of the cake. The exposed part of the cake he manages to cover by smoothing out the icing around it. " _Da_ ," he murmurs to himself - grins, and then picks up the little bit of cake, eagerly popping it in his mouth.  
  
" _Ich hab' keine Lust etwas zu kauen - denn ich hab' keine Lust es zu verdauen..._ "  
  
As he chews, he thinks that 'Keine Lust' really is a good song to eat cake to, and can't help but chuckle at that. And it is luxurious cake, indeed, as Till's cakes tend to be. The icing is cold and sweet but the cake inside is still faintly warm and crumbly. Soon he's finished and staring down at the cake, craving more; he really ought not to, though, he's still got to have dinner and find Till, so he shrugs and goes to put the knife in the sink-  
  
"... What the-"  
  
-his arm is grabbed from behind. Richard spins around to find the older man standing there, giving him and the cake on the counter a much-bemused look. "T-Till!"  
  
Till doesn't say a single thing. But his green eyes are smoldering with desire as he silently raises Richard's hand to his lips, kissing along the back of it before carefully sliding a rough pink tongue against his fingertips. The guitarist can't help but let out a small mewl at the sensation of it, the tip of his lover's tongue licking and savoring the cherry-and-cream filling clinging to his skin; Till looks into his eyes as he delicately takes one of the other's fingers into his mouth, sucking it clean. "Oh... oh, you..."  
  
The singer withdraws, kisses the tips of Richard's fingers gently, then says in a totally deadpan voice - "What did I tell you about sneaking bites out of cakes that haven't even cooled down yet, Richard?"  
  
" _W-was?_ But-"  
  
He's cut off when Till slaps his backside lightly, following his little yelp with a kiss to the forehead. "Not until after dinner," he says, and picks up the cake to put it back in the fridge. "it's meant to be _dessert, mein Gott_. Can I not bake you a _Kirschetorte_ and be allowed to take my eyes off it whenever you're around?"  
  
"Hey, I only took a little bit," the younger man protests. But just the joy of seeing Till back and in front of him is overwhelming any annoyance rapidly; that, and the fact that the man doesn't sound irritated in the slightest. Till actually gives him a soft smile when he shuts the fridge door, stroking his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "when did you come back, anyway?"  
  
"Half-past three. I checked up on you, but you were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."  
  
Richard returns his smile with the same fondness, and wraps his arms gently around Till's waist. "Glad to hear it. How's Nele, Fritz...?"  
  
"Doing well as always," the singer returns the embrace, and the younger man doesn't miss how his voice has softened at the mention of his family. "Fritz grows more and more every time I see him, I swear... he's far more of a handful than Nele was at his age, though."  
  
"As boys tend to be. He takes after you, Till."  
  
"Perhaps," Till laughs, gives him a pat on the shoulder, and goes over to the sink, rolling up his sleeves. Richard leans over the counter and watches him as he picks up the sponge and washing-up liquid, starting to rinse out the mixing bowls with almost an artistic laziness. "well, now that you're awake... we ought to have dinner, _nein?_ "  
  
"I was planning to practice on my guitar for about an hour or so, actually."  
  
He half expects the older man to tell him off again for not having practiced yet - this is less to do with Till pressing him to work and more to do with him knowing that Richard himself becomes moody and irritable when he feels like he hasn't even gotten in the minimal amount of daily practice. But the older man simply nods and gives him a thumbs-up, not looking up from the sink nor changing the tone of his voice.  
  
"I understand. Something simple then, seeing as it'll be late when you come out. Does pasta sound good?"  
  
Richard grins happily. "Yes. That sounds wonderful."  
  
They're connecting more day by day, and he couldn't be more ecstatic at that realization. And from the way Till's smiling, he's clearly happy with it, too.  
  
\-----  
  
It's after Richard's guitar practice and the dinner that Richard brings up the topic of his present. "Till, did you open my present?" he asks over proper slices of the Black Forest Cake (which, having been cooled completely, is even more delicious than before); he spoons cream into his mouth and quirks an eyebrow when the older man shakes his head. "did you see it at all? I left it right on the middle of your desk."  
  
"I did. The one in the box, you mean?"  
  
" _Ja._ "  
  
"That really was _mine?_ " Till asks, looking genuinely bewildered. This isn't what Richard was expecting.  
  
"Yes, of course. Why on earth did you think that it wasn't?"  
  
"I didn't know whether I was meant to open it, the box didn't have a recipient name. Today isn't a date that I'd have expected to get presents and I haven't done anything to deserve one, either - I just thought you'd forgotten it in my room-"  
  
This is a fair point; he probably ought to have written out a card or note clarifying this, and Richard acknowledges that. _Just like him, so efficient as always. I wouldn't love him so much otherwise._ "It was meant for you, Till. Do open it now, if you'd like."  
  
The older man nods and rises from the table, disappearing briefly into his room before emerging with the small box in his hand. "What did you get me a present for?" he asks as he sits back down and feels for the tape sealing the wrapping paper in place.  
  
"Just open it and I'll tell you."  
  
This earns Richard another brief, quizzical glance from Till, but the singer doesn't ask any more questions as he deftly peels off the wrapping paper - and looks, silently, his green eyes focused on the boxed necktie. The guitarist, too, watches from the side; eventually the older man opens the box and slides the silk garment out, letting it drape around his hands, and only then does he look back at his lover with surprise in his eyes.  
  
"Richard... I..."  
  
"Today marks the first month of us living together," the guitarist explains, keeping his voice calm even though he feels slightly flushed. "as you would know. I wanted to express my thanks to you, for letting me live with you and for being the most welcoming host. Plus, you needed a new tie - all the ones you have right now are dark colors, and they won't do in summer, not at all!"  
  
"You never cease to surprise me. And you being with me here is not something you ought to be thanking me for, it's merely something we have both wanted for a long time," but the look in Till's eyes are of fond delight, and he's clearly admiring the feel of the necktie between his fingers. "... but... it's wonderful. _Vielen Dank, meine Liebe._ If there's anything you-"  
  
"Oh, Till, it would defy the point of being a present if I expected something back in return!"  
  
"Even so..."  
  
Richard gives him a grin. "Let's settle for a kiss, and you trying it out in front of me, if you really have to give me something. I'd quite like to see if it suits you as well as I thought it would, myself."  
  
This request is granted without a further word of protest. Till leans forward for a short, but nevertheless passionate kiss as soon as the words fall from his lips; as soon as it's over, he drapes the necktie to the desired length around his neck and begins to tie it in a neat Windsor knot, gazing ahead in concentration. The younger man watches, admiring every straightforward, quick movement of the other's hands.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
The tie is just the right length and shape for Till's figure; it's not too wide, but not so narrow that it's lost amidst the singer's heavily-muscled body. The colour is also exactly right for him, light enough to be pleasant and cool during summer but not in a garish fashion. Right now the singer's not wearing a dress shirt or indeed anything with a collar, so the full effect isn't in place yet. But Richard can just imagine him wearing a suit, his hair combed back neatly and wearing that tie in combination with a white, neatly ironed shirt - and the result is so handsome that he feels lightheaded just imagining it. In short-  
  
"... It's even better than what I thought it was going to be."  
  
Without a word, he then gives into instinct - and tugs gently (but firmly) on the tie, making Till gasp slightly in surprise as he's forced to bend down and level his face with the other's. The shock fades away quickly, however, when he sees how filled with longing Richard's clear blue eyes are; his own gaze softens, and their foreheads touch ever so gently as they move in, breaths suddenly becoming softer and shallower in response to their closeness.  
  
"... Did you..." Till murmurs against Richard's lips, his breath hot and half-labored; the guitarist can't help but shiver. "did you... read my letter?"  
  
"... Huh?"  
  
This is new. Their letters are never discussed in conversation. But Richard isn't about to complain. "I did..."  
  
"Well..." the older man presses his lips lightly to Richard's at that, looking pleased, before he pulls back. The tip of his nose brushes against the other's. "... what did you think?"  
  
"I'm writing you a reply now-"  
  
He's cut off when Till shakes his head gently; this makes Richard frown in confusion before the man starts to explain. "I don't mean just that," he whispers. "not that I don't appreciate your replies whenever you write back to me. I'm just being an impatient old man-"  
  
"-Till, you _aren't_ old-"  
  
"-but I... I honestly do want to know," Till pauses, licking his bottom lip, suddenly looking unsure. "just give me a yes or no answer. _Are_ you all right with the idea of us consummating this relationship soon?"  
  
 _Oh. So that was what he was worried about._  
  
"Yes."  
  
A brief silence follows. Something about this tells Richard that Till wasn't expecting him to answer quite that soon; but true is true, and he probably ought to add a little more to it. "I went down to the shops after I read your letter, Till."  
  
"... Oh?"  
  
"... And I bought some condoms and lube. For when we get to it. Eventually."  
  
The older man's expression lightens up considerably when he hears this; he laughs and then clutches Richard tightly to his chest, nuzzling the top of his head. "You're way ahead of me," he compliments, and he looks genuinely pleased about it (save for the little blush that's risen to his cheeks). "well, that's certainly a weight off my mind. I worried that I came across as too crude for asking. And now I've deprived you of something to write about, all because of my impatience..."  
  
"Oh, please. The more varied things I can write about, the more interesting my letter will be, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
" _Ja-ah_ ," Till murmurs, drawing out the syllable ever so luxuriously in the manner that he only gains when he's feeling very content. "... if that's the case, would it be too forward of me to ask if you had any specific date to consummate our relationship in mind? I'm ready for you any time you want - I have been for the longest time..."  
  
Richard honestly has to think about this one. Admittedly he hasn't thought that far ahead, and if Till wasn't going to discuss it he certainly wasn't going to suggest it straight away. But revising the factors in play that they've discussed right now - both of the men being open to the idea, the essential items being there, and the man being interested as to what date Richard might want - he decides that insisting they wait wouldn't be the right answer to give. If Till's willing, it isn't polite for him to keep him waiting.  
  
"... Tomorrow...? When we get back home?"  
  
"Tomorrow. Are you sure?" the guitarist nods, feeling a curious absence of nervousness. This is what he wants, that's for certain. "then that's when it'll be. I appreciate your preparations more now - _Gott sei Dank!_ "  
  
 _That's set, then. One day more, Richard,_ he thinks as he loses himself in their kiss once more. _and - ah, Gott, I can hardly wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But you do have to wait, Richard! You have to wait another few days before I can get the next part up!
> 
> Vision im Spiegel is a sexy fic. I didn't incorporate this into the main fic of Silence for that reason; the original nine-part fic has no sex in it, and I'd prefer to think of it that way. The Silenceverse is organized that each individual story can be read on its own, and Vision is no exception to this rule. If you have never read Silence before, you are nevertheless not missing a huge amount by just reading this little fic, and the opposite is just as true. Though if you have read Silence, I have included quite a few concepts and easter eggs from that fic in this one (hello, Mr. Basket!).
> 
> This fic, and to an extent the entire Silenceverse, is dedicated to one person - Angel. She was the first truly in-depth reviewer I had for Silence, on this site. Over time she has also given me long, introspective reviews and she has helped me out during extremely difficult times (especially around May). I wanted to have this done for her birthday, but travelling and unexpected life situations got in the way - nevertheless, I post this now, late but definitely present.
> 
> If you're reading this, Angel - thank you for everything you've done so far. I love you to bits. 
> 
> Next part's coming soon. And yes, the code of the boxed necktie in the first section is indeed a very lame pun regarding the content of the overall fic. I’m sorry. I can’t help lame puns. It’s a lifeblood.


	2. Spiegelbilder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein, this is strictly a work of fiction and I do not profit nor claim to represent true aspects of their lives in this story.**
> 
>  
> 
> Reading 'Silence' would be a good idea before this one; but even if you don't, it's specifically written so that it can be enjoyed as a simple Till/Richard romance. But I would recommend it so the full impact gets through. This chapter is rated for being very NSFW, proceed with caution.

**Vision im Spiegel (Part 2)** \- _A 'Silence' Sequel_  
  
Pairing: EXPLICIT Till/Richard  
  
\---------------------------

Richard's day starts off when he's shaken awake by Till at around half-past eight in the morning. "We've got to hurry," the older man tells him briskly; he's already cleaned up somewhat despite being in a dressing-gown, shaved and his hair tidied to an acceptable extent. For someone who doesn't even like photoshoots nor interviews, he sure has gotten ready quickly. "change of plans, Paul just called me. It's been moved forward an hour - I don't know if that means we can leave earlier, but either way, breakfast's on the table..."  
  
Tired and disoriented, the only thing the guitarist can manage to do is let out a low groan and bury himself back in the blankets. He doesn't know it, but his body language is sluggish and giving every impression of a man who's not in the best of health; seeing this, the older man pauses. It's not a playful pause. Richard immediately feels regretful about keeping silent and hurriedly thinks of something to say, but he's still so tired that he can barely do anything but open his eyes slightly and stare ahead at Till.  
  
"... Are you not feeling well?"  
  
"... Hmm?"  
  
"Don't be ill," Till says, and he suddenly looks so concerned that all thoughts of sleep are eliminated from Richard's mind. "I can't be ill in your place, as much as I want to, Richard. I don't ever want you to suffer from-"  
  
"No, no, it's not that," the guitarist says hurriedly, sitting up and gazing into the other's worried face. "don't worry about me, Till... I'm just lounging around, that's all."  
  
Not yet taking the guitarist's word for it, Till reaches out and presses the back of his hand onto the other's forehead, checking that he hasn't got a temperature; Richard is exactly about as warm as he ought to be, no more and no less, and it's only when he confirms this that he relaxes and lowers his hand. " _Tut mir leid,_ " he says, sounding much more relieved, if somewhat abashed. "I just can't abide the thought of you as ill."  
  
"It's all right. I was just tired. And you have to admit, the having-to-be-early-by-another-hour was somewhat out of the blue."  
  
"Indeed. You _can_ manage today?"  
  
"Till, if I can't manage it, who can?"  
  
This makes the singer laugh and relax considerably. "Fair point," he acknowledges as he pats the guitarist on the shoulder. "you were always better prepared for those things. It's not going to be much different this time once you're properly awake, I suppose. As I said, breakfast's on the table."  
  
Richard nods and gets out of bed, feeling sufficiently awake after that little episode. The two men get ready in relative silence, only speaking up to confirm a few things or ask a question (or in the guitarist's case, complimenting Till on how fresh the ham and cold cuts for breakfast are); the clock's soon ticking ten in the morning and they're nearly done packing up their needed costumes for the day.  
  
" _Ach, verdammt!_ They're here already, Schneider just texted... let's hurry, Risch, if you're done just go ahead..."  
  
It's not quite fast enough, however. Displeased at how hurried they're being forced to be, Richard nevertheless grabs his costume, his jacket and a sufficiently big enough bag to stuff everything inside and leaves the apartment first, a whole five minutes ahead of Till; his bandmates don't know that they're in a relationship yet and now's not exactly the time to tell them or even give away hints as to whether they are. He turns a corner and sees the tour bus parked in a place as inconspicuous as any parking place for buses can be, and grins as he waves at the driver.  
  
" _Guten Morgen_ , Herr Kruspe."  
  
" _Guten Morgen_ ," he returns the greeting cheerfully as he walks up the steps and boards the bus, soon being greeted by the others. "hello there. How're you all doing?"  
  
"Oh, perfectly well," Paul grins; he's the one who gets up and actually hugs Richard to greet him, giving him a slap on the back. "much of the same as before, we're just enjoying the rest. Was, rather, until today! We should be asking you the question?"  
  
"Oh?"  
  
Schneider waves and winks at him from his bunk. "How's things going, now that you've been with Till for a month?"  
  
They clearly expect him to confess or become just embarrassed enough for them to be able to gently tease him; Richard however just shrugs in false nonchalance, knowing better than to fall for it. "Things are going well," he says. "he's a great flatmate. I really do ought to be moving out sometime soon, though, I don't want to burden him too much, not when both of us are getting on in years-"  
  
"But he'll miss you!"  
  
"I'll miss him, too," Richard sighs, and assumes such a conflicted expression that his bandmates would think that he's still torn between his anxiety and his liking for Till. And it's not really false, that nervousness regarding the possibility that he might be imposing too much on the older man is not a factor that will likely ever go away. Nevertheless, with Paul's resolute expression, sending him the message - Go for it already, Kruspe! - and the playful impatience of the others, he does decide that he and Till should be discussing making their relationship known to them. Ideally they should know all at once, because they are a band and single unit before anything else; Richard does feel a stronger urge to tell Paul and Olli first, though, simply because they confronted him first and because they just look so eager-  
  
"Oh, here he comes!"  
  
Till boards the bus and nods at all of them briskly. " _Guten Morgen,_ " he says, smiling at them before walking over to his bunk and rolling over on it; he doesn't pay Richard much attention, as expected. The older man's presence effectively changes the subject to something that's not their relationship, and as the bus starts up Richard is immensely grateful for that.  
  
 _Sorry, guys,_ he thinks to himself, _now's not the time, not just yet._  
  
Till gives him the briefest of nods, and Richard returns it expressionlessly; but his heart is beating rapidly, and he has to lie down and close his eyes to hide it from the rest of his bandmates.  
  
 _Patience, Richard. Only a few hours, then you'll be alone with him again. Then you can do everything that you've dreamed of. Waiting paid off with Till, didn't it?  
  
Be patient, just one more time. _  
  
\-----  
  
But things aren't quite that simple.  
  
Richard sighs as he walks down the corridor to the dressing room. The session being moved forward an hour, while much needed, hasn't had any effect on when they might be allowed to leave. All that work and no extra time off to show for it. He'd thought it was a godsend that he was finished first, but after a shower he discovered that he was fresh out of cigarettes, and the situation hasn't gotten any better now. He's gone without for hours and his hands are starting to tingle. He can't find his bandmates anywhere, so there's no chance of him being able to borrow a cigarette, and he knows that there are no shops nearby. So Richard is coming back now, having only been able to find himself some vending-machine coffee to keep himself going - woefully inadequate, but it would have to do.  
  
Maybe he really ought to be taking the idea of quitting seriously. Smoking isn't doing a thing for him.  
  
Dressed only in a white sleeveless shirt, trousers and his neck collar, he brushes back his damp hair with a hand before he enters the dressing-room again. It's fairly quiet and softly lit around the walls, a slightly-dim but luxurious golden light illuminating the place; it's designed for two people, so there's an ensuite, a long table built into the wall that's equipped with two height-adjustable chairs, boxes of tissue and two large mirrors with lights around the borders. There's also a small, low-lying leather couch along the adjacent wall, and that's where he put his bag and most of his other belongings. All in all, a very normal dressing-room, not much different to the hundreds of others that they've been in. The rest of his clothes are draped around the back of a chair; he gives them only a casual glance, sighing and pulling the other chair out to sit on it before he suddenly realizes that he isn't the only one occupying the room. The ensuite door is shut and light is showing through the crack between it and the floor.  
  
" _Hallo?_ "  
  
" _Hallo?_ " a voice calls back from within the ensuite. Richard blinks for a moment, confused - but upon realizing who's in there, he widens his eyes in surprise.  
  
"Till! Are you done now? When did you come in?"  
  
"One question at a time," the older man laughs; his low baritone echoes pleasantly from behind the door. "yes, I'm done, thank God. It's all over. The other four are still there as far as I know. And I haven't been here long - I just walked in, saw your things lying around... figured I'd keep you company here, if no one else was occupying this room..."  
  
Another glance around the room proves Till's statement right. His possessions are stashed in a corner that he didn't notice before, consisting of his bag and a bundle of his clothes and nothing more. Satisfied with this (and now quite cheerful), Richard pulls one of the chairs over and sits by the ensuite door, wanting to carry on the communication. "What'd you think of the photoshoot?"  
  
"Same old. Nothing particularly impressive about it, nothing particularly demeaning about it. You're always precious to look at, though."  
  
"Oh, Till," the guitarist chuckles, but he can't deny that he's still rather flattered. Forty-four years old and he's still so easily amused and pleased - whether that's a good thing or not, he doesn't know, but it's certainly not doing him any harm now. "I'm a little tired. I think it's the lack of cigarettes, though. I've run out."  
  
The shower is briefly turned off. "That's not good," Till says worriedly; there's the sound of a bottle cap opening and closing. Richard supposes that he's turned the water off so that he can lather himself up properly. "want to borrow one of mine? I've got two left - the other guys started later than us and by the way things are going they might still be a while, so I have no idea how long one cigarette might last you before we can go home... but it's better than nothing, isn't it?"  
  
"It is," the guitarist calls, at once immensely relieved and feeling a little guilty. Damn his addiction, being so inconvenient in times like those. "thank you ever so much, Till."  
  
" _Kein Problem._ "  
  
A comfortable silence settles between them as the shower is turned back on and the singer begins rinsing off the lather from his body. Richard leans against the chair, closing his eyes lazily and his spirits considerably lightened from Till's presence and the promise of a cigarette, almost being lulled to sleep by the sound of the water before he's jolted awake by an unpleasant realization: he's tired. Checking his watch reveals that it's almost six o'clock in the evening. While late-running shoots are most certainly something that they've gotten used to in the past decade and a half, this does put a bit of a dampener in the plans that he and Till have made for later, considering it's still going to take them over an hour to get back.  
  
"Till," he calls.  
  
" _Ja._ "  
  
"About tonight," Richard hesitates; there's only silence behind the door. "... it's going to be quite late when we get back, isn't it?"  
  
Till takes a full minute to answer. "I'm afraid so," he finally says just as the guitarist is beginning to fidget anxiously. "past nine o'clock. Maybe a little earlier, if traffic isn't too bad. But I don't see us returning home before that."  
  
"Damn. I guess..." exhale. "by the time we get back we'd be utterly exhausted, and there's dinner too... so... well... I guess us doing it tonight... is out of the question, then."  
  
There is no reply; even the sound of running water has stopped. Richard is just beginning to think that Till's become upset and is hastily trying to think of an apology or another means to amend this situation when Till speaks up once more.  
  
"I don't know," the door swings open, revealing the singer's large, damp body, clad only in a towel that's fastened around his waist. "is it?"  
  
Richard's left speechless. Till's there, standing in front of him with perfectly clear green eyes and staring into his face; from the glow of the ensuite lights he cuts a more imposing figure than expected, every curve and swell of his muscles highlighted, and he suddenly feels both a little intimidated and helplessly aroused. "You're..." Richard swallows heavily, reaching out to gently brush the tips of his fingers against the other's left bicep. "Till... you're..."  
  
With a casual but oddly-smoldering gaze, Till walks straight past him and towards the pile of his clothes; even though he's not really doing anything, the guitarist can't help but _imagine_ , because the truth of the matter is that the older man is _extremely naked_ save for that towel right now. "Cigarette?" he calls, and only then does the guitarist move, startled out of his fantasies.  
  
"Oh... oh, of course..." He hastily reaches for his bag and searches around for his lighter, not missing the rustle of the plastic bag where the condoms and lube are. Till turns around with a cigarette in his mouth and hands him one as well, which Richard reaches towards with a trembling hand. " _danke_ ," he says but doesn't make any moves to light it, instead staring at it and his lover at the same time. Till too isn't moving from his spot, gazing into the other's blue eyes in silence.  
  
 _... This isn't about the cigarette, is it?_  
  
Knowing that he's doing something he's only ever done a few times in his life, Richard makes the first move and actually puts down his offered cigarette. Maybe the nicotine withdrawal is getting to his head, but with the sight and scent of a vastly-nude Till in front of him, he can let it go just this once. "Put that down," he speaks up, voice trembling - is he giving Till an _order?_ \- and when the man obeys without a single comment, he walks up to him and throws his arms around his body, burying his face into his chest. "not fair. Not fair _at all_. Not when I've waited so long."  
  
Till chuckles, his eyes full of mischief. "You could say the same for me," he purrs in his low voice, lightly fingering the other's collar. "we're all alone and _then_ you have to go and point out that we'll be too exhausted to do much when we get home. Is it any wonder that I had the idea to simply adjust the time and place?"  
  
"I have the lube and condoms."  
  
There's a stunned silence, and Till actually takes a step back, looking perplexed. "... _Was?_ Why did-"  
  
Richard's cheeks redden at his bemused expression. "I... I didn't mean to," he explains quickly in case the older man gets the wrong idea. "I hid them in my bag when I bought them, and this morning was such a rush that I barely even realized..."  
  
"That has to be one of the funnier mistakes I've seen in my life," the older man laughs, but within a few seconds the serious look is back on his face. "... and... a very... _convenient_ one..."  
  
"..."  
  
There's silence for a while. The question is left hanging in the air, unasked and unanswered, only present as a possibility until one of them makes a move. And it's Till who does it first after what feels like an eternity; "We should get it over with," he finally says, suddenly sounding rather hoarse. Richard looks at him, startled, but there's no denying his arousal, either; he drops his gaze back down onto the floor, blushing heavily.  
  
"Till..." he says quietly. "there's no need to... we can save it for later on, tomorrow maybe..."  
  
"No, because then I'll just keep staring at you in the bus and think that we _haven't done it_ when we had everything we needed and we _promised_ and we just _have to_ ," the singer responds; his words are almost blurring together as he speaks in an increasingly hurried manner, sounding almost desperate and embarrassed and yet incredibly lustful. "and I certainly wouldn't dream of taking you, if you're too tired back home... and... and... it'd be positively dire."  
  
 _Dire_ is the right word. Richard can already see his erection straining against the towel around his waist, the only garment concealing his form right now. _Oh dear_ , he thinks to himself furiously, beginning to feel sweat pooling at his hairline just looking at it and feeling himself respond to the sight. But as if possessed, he's already pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it carelessly on the ground- "I... I see..."  
  
"Maybe these are just the irrational demands of a man starved with longing," the older man's breathing is much harder now, and he's walking forwards to do the rest of the honors for the younger man. "forgive me, Richard..."  
  
"Till."  
  
The mantra in Richard's head reminds him: _he asked, you consented, this is natural and this is happening._ And - oh, _goodness_ \- Till's fumbling with the zipper and button of his trousers, tugging it down while managing to only let the palm of his hand brush very gently against the guitarist's erection; in a daze of emotions, Richard reaches down to help him out, huffing in a mixture of panic and annoyance when the clothing finally slides onto the floor. "You must... you must think me so crude, Risch-"  
  
" _Till_."  
  
They're only wearing one thing each, now. (The neck collar doesn't count.) At every inch of Richard's skin being exposed Till's eyes darken with longing, his breathing becoming increasingly more labored. Not wanting to be overwhelmed just yet the guitarist shuts his eyes and peels off his boxers in a hurry, tossing them towards some random direction, hearing the vague thump of his lover's towel hitting the floor as well and wincing in pleasure. Only then does he dare to open his eyes. Quite suddenly, there's him, naked; and there's Till, naked; and for a long time they stand there, staring at each other's bodies.  
  
He's seen Till in the nude before, of course. Nudism isn't really a big deal where they come from, and they've all seen each other in various states of undress during their many tours and photoshoots. It's not as if they're unfamiliar with each other's bodies, neither of them are prudish about it. But this is different. Till's body is still slightly damp, but in the dim light of the dressing room it lends his taut, tanned skin a slightly ethereal glow. His eyes are intensely green and almost catlike as his gaze travels slowly down Richard's form; the younger man raises one hand slightly, intending to reach out and touch the singer's body, but finds that he can't bring himself to do that yet. He looks instead, focusing on Till's large shoulders, the muscles standing out on his biceps; he does reach out again with more success when he gets to the other's toned chest, running a finger down the skin and marveling at the smoothness of it. Soon he feels brave enough to rest both palms on Till's chest, feeling the intensity of his heat, and when he runs them gently downwards against his chest he can feel the other's nipples stiffen at the feather-light touch beneath his fingertips. Till lets out a small sound at this, something halfway between a purr and a pleased 'mmm' that vibrates in his chest and makes Richard shiver with longing. Age has softened the other's figure a little, but he'd be damned if Till isn't one of the finest-looking and the fittest men he's seen, especially considering that he's nearly fifty. Only at this point does he become aware that the older man has been reciprocating his stare all along, and his blush intensifies as his mind overloads with possibilities - what if Till doesn't like what he's seeing? But they've gone too far to stop, so the guitarist swallows hard and carries on scrutinizing his lover's body, feeling his face growing increasingly hotter and actually having to close his eyes with the sheer intensity as he gets to the singer's abdomen and down to his - oh _God_ \- and his tightly muscled legs. Till is more awkwardly robust and more beautifully put together than he'd ever imagined, now that he's really thinking about it. Richard can't help himself, he's so aroused, and as Till (who is very much the same) gazes into his eyes and licks his lips ever so lightly he feels almost as if he's about to pass out from all the emotions coursing through him.  
  
And then he gives up and starts laughing.  
  
Till stares at him with an odd look, prompting the beginnings of a hasty, gasped apology - but Richard needn't have worried in the first place because it's no more than a few seconds before the older man suddenly bursts into laughter as well. Together they laugh and laugh, holding onto each other, all the nervousness washed away just like that as they laugh just like the old friends that they are.  
  
"Oh," Richard chokes out, wiping the tears from his eyes. "oh dear. Oh my _Lord._ I'm so sorry."  
  
"No need."  
  
But it's all right. The tension's been washed away; Till reaches down and takes the other's face in his hands, pressing a passionate kiss to his lips and holding him tight as Richard melds into the kiss. It almost makes them forget how absurd it all is, two middle-aged men standing naked in the middle of a dressing room while being terribly nervous about having sex for the first time, as if they were two adolescent teenagers.  
  
"We can't do this," Richard says as they break the kiss; but he doesn't mean it. Even as he lets the words fall from his lips, one of Till's large warm hands is resting on his backside and they're still holding each other. And of course, they're still very much aroused and it's not showing any signs of ebbing any time soon. Till looks around the room, judging the situation; Richard follows his thought process by simply tracking his gaze. Not the couch, it wouldn't fit them both and it's not high enough. The floor probably isn't much better, as plush the carpet is - there isn't a lot else to make use of, but nevertheless he's quite touched that his lover wants to do this properly.  
  
"I've... got an idea..."  
  
Without further prompt Till turns around and pushes away one of the height-adjustable chairs. He then pulls the younger man towards the dressing-table, having Richard stand against it, facing outwards with his hands resting on the tabletop. The table's at a good enough height that he can lean against the side of it. "... Is that comfortable?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
One good thing about this position is that Richard can stand with relative ease and still present himself to Till perfectly, leaning back in a submissive, exposed position. Clearly this isn't lost on the singer either; he bends down to brush the softest of butterfly kisses against the corner of Richard's mouth, gentle and totally respectful to start with before progressing to a deeper, slightly more desperate kiss. The guitarist can't help but smile and chuckle softly at the other's demanding impatience even as Till breaks the kiss and trails off around his mouth, moving down to his neck and shoulders.  
  
"Mmm... Till..."  
  
The singer's palms are warm and rough against his chest; he runs them smoothly down Richard's torso, admiring the hard muscles beneath his tanned skin before he bends down and lightly presses the tip of his tongue against a pink nub, in the exact same way that he did that night when they first confessed their love. But that was more of a teasing lick than anything. Till goes one further and swirls his tongue around the nipple, soon drawing it within his mouth and suckling on it before nipping at it very lightly. " _Du magst das, nicht wahr?_ " he murmurs as he soothes it with a lick, pinching at both nipples lightly with his fingers.  
  
" _J-ja..._ " Richard whispers, words feeling thick in his throat. Till slowly trails down his chest with his tongue and the guitarist can't help but shiver at the warmth of it, wet and slightly rough but intensely pleasurable. He throws his head back as he feels the other's lips press lightly against his abdomen, before Till straightens up again.  
  
"Someone's excited..." he murmurs, a little smile on his lips as he gazes down at the other's arousal. Sure enough, Richard's fully hard and erect, a hot clear fluid leaking from the tip already from just those little touches.  
  
Richard tries hard to keep a stoic face, but nevertheless his cheeks redden at the intensity of the other's gaze. "It's all your fault."  
  
"Not exactly something to complain about, now, is it?"  
  
For once the guitarist decides that words aren't going to solve anything, and this lends him a boldness that he wouldn't have thought of otherwise. With an impatient growl he reaches out and tugs Till towards him, snatching his hand and forcefully closing it around his member; the older man blinks and lets out a small 'oh', genuinely taken aback for a second. But soon he regains his composure and gives the younger man a curiously boyish smile, full of mischief and yet also with an odd kind of submissiveness, as he tightens his grip around the shaft and causes Richard to moan.  
  
" _Gott im Himmel, kiss_ me, Till," he groans. And Till does, leaning forwards and giving him a long open-mouthed kiss, tongues battling for dominance while slowly stroking Richard's member with his hand. It's an intensely erotic kiss, with their moans and heavy breaths mingling together - Richard's trembling at the touch, barely being able to resist bucking his hips in response. He runs his hands down Till's back to rest on his taut buttocks and gives them a squeeze, which leads the older man let go of his member and let out a soft moan of pleasure. Their erections brush together, sensitive flesh against another, and after the kiss is over they look down at each other.  
  
"What do you think of mine?"  
  
Richard looks. "Not quite the same as the dildo that we use for Bück Dich."  
  
Till gives him a little smile. "Do you want it to be?"  
  
"I like this better," Richard purrs - and reaches down, grasping the length and making his lover shiver and buck lightly into his hand. It's smooth and hard, and of course ever-so-beautifully _hot,_ Till's warmth centered there for the time being; it's also a lot larger than he would have expected at first glance, but again, it's not like this is the first time he's seen the man naked. He's heard rumors about his size, and he used to be bemused by it, if anything. It's just different to be actually standing there, _touching_ it with his own hand. Feeling its heat finally allows the fact of the situation to sink through - and even though Richard knows that he can still back out if he wants to, that Till would never force him to do anything he was truly uncomfortable with, all he can think of is how much he wants this man in front of him. He wants to embrace Till, he wants to kiss him and adore him and pin him down onto the floor - he wants Till to enter him, or vice versa, spilling his hot seed inside and filling him up to the brim - he simply wants the singer as friend, lover, mate, companion, _everything._ He lightly strokes it with his right hand, hoping that his calloused fingers won't come across as too abrasive against the smooth, sensitive length - but there doesn't seem to be any complaints in that department, as Till just lets out a soft, trembling sigh in response. "... it will fit, right?"  
  
"If we do it properly," Till nods at him and gestures at Richard to step back; the younger man obeys, letting go of the other's length reluctantly and backing up against the table once more. "but there's something I'd like to do first."  
  
"What-" Till then kneels down on the carpet, raising his head to kiss up his thighs - and the head of his member. "- oh - T-Till, I..."  
  
Till holds it with one hand, cradling the base with the other, and starts licking at it with a hot, rough tongue. It's a slow, luxurious and yet utterly lewd act; 'Mmm,' Till moans as he slowly licks along the very tip of the younger man's erection, a thin clear trail of precum connecting his tongue to the sensitive flesh. It's not a blowjob in the sense that it involves sucking, surprisingly; no, Till's just lapping at it like a cat with cream, eager and sweet, his green eyes wide and almost submissive as he gazes into Richard's own. But either way it's immensely pleasurable; his lips are soft, his tongue dexterous and skilled from all the years of singing, and the inside of his mouth is hot and wet. At one moment the older man's being incredibly gentle, and being insistent and oddly aggressive the next. With this wonderful contrast, it's not long before Richard tenses up in preparation, breathing hard - but Till notices, and he isn't about to have that just yet, so he stops and moves away.  
  
"Tease," Richard whimpers pitifully; the singer just smiles and stands up, only wincing very briefly as his knees creak a little. "why on _earth_ did you do that?"  
  
"I want to please you completely," Till says - before his smile falters into a more serious (and perhaps a little shy) look. "... you said the lubricant and condoms are in your bag?"  
  
"I did..."  
  
A quick rummage through, and Till's set the box of condoms and lubricant down on the dressing-table. They're sufficiently aroused enough to jump to the next step, which is something they confirm with a long look at each other and an eventual nod; the older man picks up the lubricant bottle. "You're sure about this," he states, more to himself than Richard.  
  
"Mm."  
  
Till certainly doesn't want to hurt him, and Richard isn't eager for it to be more painful than necessary, either. He's not exactly masochistic when it comes to sex, though he suddenly feels a little unsure as to whether his lover is. Of course they share the love for fire and burning and they revel in _that_ kind of pain, but-  
  
"... Tell me if I'm hurting you, _ja?_ "  
  
This is followed up with a nervous, brief peck of the lips. Richard swallows hard, biting back his own fear, and nods. "I will," he says, then turns away to grip the edge of the table with his hands. Through a little glance at the mirror he can see Till opening the bottle of lube; _he'll probably lube himself up before he starts on me_ , he thinks as he closes his eyes and braces himself.  
  
But Till doesn't do that. No, he raises the bottle and _drips_ the lube over him - Richard yelps as the cold liquid slides down his thighs and backside, and clenches his eyes shut when Till actually touches him, his lube-coated fingers lightly caressing his entrance before he slides one in ever so gently. His fingers are relatively large; but it doesn't feel painful, just distinctly odd, almost exactly like a prostate exam. Thinking about it like that is rather clinical, perhaps, and it actually helps Richard to calm down and get his thoughts in order before Till inserts a second finger. _Then_ a small jolt of pain shoots through him, making him grimace - as the other's fingers push in a little more, he actually whimpers and tries to wriggle free to no avail. Till chuckles softly from above him; he gently begins to widen the tight ring of muscle, trying to loosen him up and let him get used to the feeling. Soon he finds the sensitive gland, not too far inside, and rubs it lightly; the moan that escapes Richard at this touch is so sudden, so sweet and sensual, that Till actually stops all movement for a brief moment. He closes his eyes, unable to hear and unable to think of anything but that moan - the guitarist seems embarrassed at having reacted in such a manner, and turns his head away, blushing.  
  
"No, no," Till whispers, gently urging him to look up again. "don't... I liked it."  
  
Richard doesn't answer, feeling too mortified to do so. But Till seems unfazed as he brushes his finger lightly over the sweet spot once more; the guitarist doesn't moan this time, but he squirms a little, his blush deepening. A considerably-firmer press makes him moan and buck into the table, eyes clenching shut in mixed pleasure and embarrassment, his erection twitching lightly in response.  
  
"Till, ah," he cries out. "if - if you keep that up, I'm going to come..."  
  
This won't do, and Till knows it. He withdraws from Richard almost immediately, and while the guitarist is bent over the table, briefly tells him to wait before quickly walking away to somewhere. This leads to a somewhat awkward pause in the action, Richard suddenly being left alone and having to stay still; it's not until he hears the sound of rushing water from the ensuite, along with the box of condoms being torn open, that he figures out what Till's doing.  
  
"... You bought large sized condoms?"  
  
Richard blushes heavily at this, taking note of the amused tone that Till's voice has taken. "I feel you all the time," he calls out, clearing his throat hastily. "when we sleep together. I thought they'd be best. Do they fit?"  
  
"They do. Quite nicely, not that I'm boasting..."  
  
And then there are footsteps and Till's cleanly-washed hands are upon the small of his back, travelling down and finally resting on the sides of his hips. Richard moans and lets out a shaky laugh as he feels the other's lips nuzzling the back of his neck, along his shoulders and down to his back. "Heh... Till... that tickles..."  
  
The older man looks up, and through the mirror they share a little smile. Till straightens up again and presses his hips against his lover's, the condom rolled on and fitted snugly around his member.  
  
"... _Richard?_ "  
  
The guitarist closes his eyes. Just from how Till suddenly whispers his name in that hoarse, yet delicately-pronounced way, he already knows what his lover will ask of him. And sure enough, he can feel it now, the sensation of the other's member prodding lightly against him- "... _Ja?_ "  
  
"... _Bist du bereit?_ "  
  
"Yes," Richard whispers in response, his voice hoarse too with anticipation. "take me, Till. Claim me as yours."  
  
The singer softly kisses and nibbles down his back to get him to relax first before taking hold of his slickened member and guiding himself in; he does it very slowly and gently, almost prodding lightly at first before pushing just enough to let the very tip of his erection slide in. He pauses briefly there, searching for any hints of pain on Richard's face - there's none just yet - before giving a solid, decisive thrust and enters him proper.  
  
"... Ah... _ahh-_ " the guitarist cries out, tensing; he's used to withstanding pain, but not in this way. The pain of being burnt or having his hands bleed because of overpracticing is something wholly different to this; Till's so large and thick inside him that he can't help but feel tears stinging at his eyes. From the way the man's gripping him Richard knows that he's exercising the most restraint possible, his self-control on overdrive to stop himself from pounding the guitarist into the table, but that doesn't help that much.  
  
"Mm-nngh..." he groans, tightening his grip around the edge of the table and panting hard. "... Till... Till, ah, it... it hurts..."  
  
The older man stops; he says nothing, but gently caresses the back of his neck and waits for Richard to calm down somewhat. Only when the younger man sinks down, exhaling shakily, does he pose the question. "Richard, we don't need to do this right now," he murmurs worriedly. "do you want me to stop? I'm - I'm happy enough to please you in any other way, anything but hurting you-"  
  
"No... no, it's fine, it always hurts the first time... just carry on, Till..."  
  
He doesn't, and carries on gazing at Richard with concern. "I'm... such an impatient and foolish man, aren't I...?"  
  
"Till... mmnh, _Gott,_ self-deprecation is the least arousing thing..." he manages a smile, urging the other to continue. "it's all right. Really."  
  
It's easier said than done, though. Till carries on, wary but nevertheless at a steady pace, and soon he's fully inside and Richard's almost speechless with the pain. And oh, he suddenly feels so _cold_ \- cold as if plunged in icewater - that he briefly panics, wondering if something's gone terribly wrong or if he's bleeding. He might be experienced at sex, but not with another man, and having something like this happen to him during what ought to be fairly straightforward just frightens him even more; he bites his lip, tense and feeling as if he's being torn in half. But Till senses that he's hurting - without a word, he brings his arms up and holds Richard tightly against him, nuzzling into his back and murmuring apologies, planting soft kisses and licks against his skin. "Sorry..." he whispers, shushing him gently as Richard whimpers in pain, running a soothing hand down his chest and stomach and lightly stroking at his member. He's so slow and caring that the guitarist calms down within a minute, managing to open his eyes and look back at Till with only a light uneasiness.  
  
"May I move now?"  
  
The guitarist nods. "Be gentle," he breathes, moaning faintly as he feels the other's length slide out a little. "you're quite big, and-" Till pushes back in, causing the younger man to wince and slump forwards. "O-ow!"  
  
Till stops, looking more distressed than ever. "Risch, I can't do this if I'm going to hurt you. Do you want to stop?"  
  
"No, that's..." the guitarist weakly raises a hand, gesturing in the air helplessly, trying to adequately convey his meaning. "... it's... not the right angle... a bit lower..."  
  
 _Bother. I don't remember sex being this difficult before._  
  
It's probably less that sex in general is difficult and more that he's never done it this way before; that, and the fact that neither he nor Till are yet fully comfortable would certainly be a factor. The singer looks hesitant and not at all convinced, but he complies and pulls out, pushing back in a little slower and in a different angle this time. Richard finds this attempt more agreeable and allows himself to relax, sending the quiet message that Till can carry on.  
  
"Does it still hurt?"  
  
"... _Ein... ein... bisschen..._ "  
  
But it's barely present now. Till's eased into a slow rhythm, thrusting in short, even measures and making sure that he's getting the correct angle; every now and then he brushes up against the prostate, making Richard squirm and moan out loud. Slowly the icy sensation in the pit of his stomach fades away, along with the splitting pain, being steadily replaced with a warmth so fiery that the guitarist doesn't know what to do with himself. He feels as if his entire body's about to melt, the slickness of Till's member thrusting inside him making him writhe, and for a moment - just for a moment - he feels utter ecstasy as the older man leans down to kiss his shoulder gently. He'd be quite content to just stay like this forever, Till inside him, being loved like this with no one to bother them. A well-aimed thrust makes Richard close his eyes tight and let out a soft cooing noise, signaling his pleasure.  
  
To the singer, who's been taking the other's relative silence as one of pain all this time, however - this is a cause for alarm. Startled, the older man pauses and gazes anxiously down at Richard again. "Risch..."  
  
"Stay," the guitarist pleads before he can continue on, clutching at the other's hand. "it's all right..."  
  
"But I don't want to hurt you!"  
  
"It feels good, Till... I waited this long to feel you inside me," the older man still doesn't move. Impatient, Richard actually pushes back against him, begging him to carry on." _we_ waited for much too long, I - _mnnh_ \- I want you... so... so _much_... and I don't want to see you holding back..."  
  
"I-"  
  
"Till..." Richard actually turns his head to look at him, panting, hoping that the flushed and wanton expression on his face is conveying his frustration fully. " _love me!_ "  
  
He's successful.  
  
The singer stares at him for a moment before unbridled lust clouds over his eyes; with a growl he grabs Richard tighter around the hips and begins thrusting into him, staying remarkably restrained for the first few thrusts and checking that the younger man isn't in pain before giving into his own rhythm. The guitarist bucks against him, meeting every thrust of his hips with his own, gasping and inhaling Till's scent; hot and sweet and musky, an intensely sexy odor that only turns him on even more.  
  
"Ahh," Till moans indulgently as he continues to rock against his lover. " _mein Gott,_ you're so tight..."  
  
Richard blushes hotly at this remark, and twists his body around a little so that he can reach up and stroke the other's hair. He's panting softly, his lips parted in arousal, his blue eyes half-lidded and dark with passion; hot, lusty cries are escaping him with every thrust now, no longer quiet as before, but neither of them can be asked to care at this point. They buck and move against each other in a steady rhythm, only their breathy moans and cries audible in the otherwise-silent room. Their bodies are beading with sweat as they move, skin against skin, their shared scent hanging thick and heavy in the air; Till bends forwards to lick and nip at the collar slightly, tugging at it with his teeth, causing Richard to mewl and slump facedown on the table.  
  
"No," Till grasps him beneath his chin and forces him to look up, straight into the mirror. "look at me. _Look at me._ "  
  
Richard obeys; there is nowhere else that he can turn his head towards anyway, and besides - he has no desire to look away from Till. So he does, panting out loud, staring into his own lust-filled face before moving up to fix his gaze upon the reflection of the other's eyes. They're almost black with pleasure, his pupils fully dilated, and as Richard gazes into their combined vision in the mirror he sees his older lover bend forwards to kiss and nibble at the nape of his neck.  
  
"That's better," Till breathes into his ear. "I want to see you moan. I want to see you, every part of you, writhing in pleasure just for me."  
  
"Heh... L-look who's talking, Herr ' _Dein-Gesicht-ist-mir-egal_ '..."  
  
This comment earns him a growl and a particularly hard thrust from Till, but it's all in good heart. There's something incomprehensibly humbling about being bent over like this and being made to stare at himself as he's taken; just the 'being made love to on a table' part would be enough, but then neither he nor Till are very conventional men. Every time he shuts his eyes tightly for more than a couple of seconds or tries to lower his head, Till stops him with a slap to the rump or by tugging him up by his collar, and even though it's rather hard trying to keep his head up Richard can't help but feel intensely turned on by the thought of the man dominating him in this way. He reaches out towards the mirror, almost as a reflex, trying to concile himself with his mirror image, only to cry out and falter when Till too places his hands on the table, pressing their bodies closer together and thrusting his hips harder than before. His outstretched hand trembles, then falls back onto the dressing-table.  
  
"Fuck, Till," Richard cries as he lolls his head back, coming into contact with the crook of Till's neck. The older man doesn't miss the opportunity to rain kisses upon his forehead and cheek. "that... that feels so good..."  
  
He feels completely raw and exposed, sweat running down the contours of his muscles as Till slams into him with increased urgency. Of course he's dreamed about this countless times, in the dark of the night and alone while bringing himself to orgasm at the mere fleeting fantasy of it. To say that the actual experience is physically very different to what he imagined would be an exaggeration. But here he is now, actually being claimed as Till's mate, and suddenly he is afraid that if he looks away for even a second from their reflection, Till will disappear. Of course he's most definitely there, taking him from behind, making him writhe in uncontrollable pleasure - but still, there is a small part of Richard's mind that thinks this might be all another fantasy, and when he comes back to reality he'll just find himself back in their bed, possibly alone and full of lust. He doesn't know that the older man is feeling much of the same, and that he's going one further by deliberately assuring his own presence on Richard's body - touching and thrusting isn't enough. He can't mark the guitarist on the more obvious spots such as the neck and clavicle out of fear that they'll be spotted by others, but he can leave little love-bites along his back, he can slap his backside, hold him tight enough to leave fingernail scratches on his body. Selfish of him, maybe, but in that moment they just want each other to belong to _them_ and no one else, and it's a torturous feeling, possessive longing being squeezed out drop by drop.  
  
 _I would like to be able to watch you, enjoy you, as you actively desire more from me._  
  
The contents of Till's letter float back into mind; through hazy thoughts Richard manages to focus on one thing that Till requested of him. Glancing at the mirror reveals his older lover to be completely focused on what he's doing, caressing and rocking against his body, eyes closed and letting out soft groans of his own.  
  
 _... Press the lips lightly together, hum through the vocal cords lightly, then pry them apart with a soft exhaled sigh...  
  
"... Mehr..."_  
  
Till opens his eyes as soon as the word falls from his lips, and he inhales sharply from behind him. "Yes?" he murmurs, fixing his gaze on the other's lips. "what... did you say?"  
  
" _Bitte..._ " Richard's eyes are glazed in pleasure. " _ich... ich... will mehr..._ "  
  
That does it for Till. With a growl he reaches behind him and grabs the height-adjustable chair, dragging it close and grasping Richard tightly around the waist; before the guitarist can whimper in confusion or beg for him to continue (or even really react, for that matter), Till throws himself down upon the seat, taking the younger man with him to settle on top and forcing out a little yelp from him. "You're mine," the older man breathes hotly against his back, and although Richard doesn't manage to see it from this position, his eyes are dark with passion as he grips the younger man's hips and thrusts roughly upwards into him. " _mine._ "  
  
It's too much for Richard. He's moaning with each thrust, unable to move as Till pins his arms firmly around his back; they're both flushed, their bodies hot and sticky with perspiration, Richard's legs are spread as wide as the chair will allow and he's completely exposed in front of the older man as they make love, and he can see every single utterly _lewd_ and _shameless_ second of it being projected onto the mirror while Till's dark green eyes stare back from their reflection. He can see the older man trailing bruising kisses along his shoulder, his neck already littered with love-bites (the possibility of others noticing them be damned), he can see his nipples being tweaked and caressed, Till's length sliding in and out of his body - and most of all he sees himself, tears in his eyes, toes curled in pleasure and every inch of his body burning for his lover, wanting more, demanding more.  
  
"Till... oh... oh, _Till...!_ "  
  
Till. One syllable, such a simple sound, and yet it's sweeter than any other word to Richard right now. Every time he calls out his lover's name he's conveying ever so much in that single syllable: worship, love, adoration, lust, begging for more, begging for mercy. It's genuinely surprising, how utterly wanton and uncontrolled he's become within minutes now that he can see both himself and his lover more clearly. Even Till seems filled with wonder at the sheer passion with which Richard cries out - _härter, schneller, tiefer_ \- harder, faster, deeper - lost in ecstasy as he writhes on top of his lover. Of course, Till does grant all of those demands with fluid ease, crooning words of encouragement in his beautiful voice and staring into the mirror, taking it all in. A true feast.  
  
Then it happens. Richard tenses on top of Till, head thrown back and lips parted as he rapidly approaches his peak. "I'm... I'm going to-"  
  
"It's all right," the older man gasps into his ear. "just let it happen, Richard!"  
  
He reaches down to eagerly pump at the other's neglected erection, other hand roaming his chest to pinch lightly at a nipple. And watching this sends the guitarist completely over the edge; he comes right there and then, clenching his eyes shut and completely disregarding the thought that someone might be able to hear them from outside as he moans out loud. Till's insistent squeeze at his member forces him to open his eyes and watch himself coming, though, hot cum dripping down his length and thighs and coating his stomach, not to mention the singer's hand itself. Without taking his gaze off the reflection of Richard's eyes, Till lets go and brings his hand to his mouth, lewdly sucking at his fingers and letting out a soft groan at the taste while thrusting ever harder into him.  
  
 _Oh... oh God..._  
  
While Richard stays there, the inside of his head gone completely blank, Till's climax too happens so suddenly that neither of them really are prepared for it. He clutches the younger man tightly around the waist and bucks his hips hard one last time; as he loses control and comes, he lets out such a loud and piercing cry (compared to the relatively quiet moans from before) that Richard is startled into opening his eyes again. He can't help but blush at Till's expression, a rictus of ecstatic agony, his chest heaving as he pants out his release; Richard can almost feel the other's length twitching lightly within him and through his lightheadedness wonders (very briefly) what it might like to be filled to the brim by the older man. They stay completely still for a while, hot slick bodies pressed close to the other's, suspended in their mutual pleasure.  
  
"Look at how beautiful you are," Till breathes in his ear before he nips ever so lightly at his earlobe and trails his lips downwards. The younger man's response to this is a muffled, barely audible groan; but he doesn't close his eyes, staring dazedly into their reflection before shyly averting his gaze at the sight of his own cum covering his stomach. Taking this as a sign that the younger man ought to be let down, and knowing that he shouldn't stay any longer, Till gently lifts up the other's hips and pulls out of him; Richard doesn't struggle but he does let out a small whimper, not wanting his lover to leave him just quite yet. Noticing this, Till pauses for a second to brush a reassuring kiss against his cheek before pulling out fully and supporting Richard in his arms. "let's get you to the sofa."  
  
Richard would quite like to stay longer on the older man's lap, but he's not about to take no for an answer, so he just nods and lets Till guide him off the chair and to the sofa, lying down lengthwise and sinking his head back on the cushions. After this is done Till slips the condom off his considerably-softened length and ties it closed, wrapping it in tissue and tossing it in the wastebasket in the corner; making sure to stroke the younger man's head and reassure him that he's coming back, he then enters the ensuite and picks up two towels, wetting one and wringing it out before coming to kneel in front of Richard. "I'll get you cleaned up."  
  
"Mmh," is the answer. Till uses the warm, damp towel to clean the sweat and cum off his body and dabs lightly between Richard's thighs and back, quickly mopping at the moisture with the dry towel and only then moving onto cleaning himself up of bodily fluids. Richard turns his head to look at him, still rather disoriented and feeling a dull ache settling deep inside him; but nevertheless he's slowly coming to, and the realization of just how tender the singer's being awakens yet another dimension of fondness within his heart.  
  
"There," the older man says when they've both been adequately cleaned off, tossing the towels away. "was that good, Richard?"  
  
"You were the best," the guitarist responds; his own voice seems foreign to him, hoarse from all the moaning and crying out and still thick with lust. "I mean it."  
  
"Thank you. I want to do it again," Till nuzzles Richard's cheek, making the guitarist smile a little. "properly. I want us to be on a bed next time."  
  
"The first time ought to be _memorable_ , though," the younger man laughs. "and it certainly was... wow, Till..."  
  
They share a long kiss together; it's not the most comfortable one because the sofa doesn't fit them both, but nevertheless it's a way to wind down somewhat. In his post-coital bliss it's a blessing to be able to hold Till and affirm their love, after all. "I think I need another shower," the older man says when they break the kiss. "just a quick one. I can't really go out like this."  
  
This is true. Till sweats far more than Richard does, normally, and the guitarist's already fairly cleaned off and dry whilst a towel alone won't exactly do the same for the older man. "Go right ahead. But come back quickly, _ja?_ I'd like to be able to hold you before we have to go."  
  
"What we just did wasn't enough?"  
  
"Nowhere near enough."  
  
Till laughs and lightly flicks the dry towel at him before he re-enters the ensuite and closes the door. Richard lies on the sofa for some minutes, hearing the shower start up again, feeling oddly disconnected from his own self; he raises one hand and flexes his fingers slowly, their movement gently bringing them back to the real world. He feels for his neck collar and judging from the sensation of it, Till's left teethmarks on it. Everything feels oddly unreal to him, but yet it's definitely happened - but then again, his disorientation is understandable. It's not every day that he goes through a life-changing event within a dressing room. Raising his torso a little, he manages to sit up (wincing at the ache) and look around dazedly at the room. One side of the dressing table is messed up, the tissues and items on there scattered all over and the chair's been pushed to one side crookedly. He should probably fix that; they'd never hear the end of it otherwise. Still stark naked, Richard heaves himself up and staggers towards the dressing-table, rearranging the boxes of tissues and tidying up as much as possible, discarding every last piece of trash in the wastebasket. He picks up the cigarette that Till gave him, but has no desire to smoke it, so he places that in the front pocket of his bag instead.  
  
 _Wow. Till's managed to temporarily screw years' worth of nicotine addiction out of me._  
  
The thought amuses him so much that he starts chuckling; it all falls into place then, that they've made love, that they've taken the next step in their relationship together in the most excellent way. He gazes at the ensuite door with a grin on his face, suddenly filled with no other desire than to rush in and embrace Till and not let go, when a knock sounds on the door and startles him out of it.  
  
"Hello? Risch? Are you in there?"  
  
"Oh... um, Schneider," he calls back, hoping that his voice isn't giving away anything. Thankfully, the door is still locked. "I'm here, yes."  
  
"I was the last to finish. I just got out now - I asked the others and they didn't know where you or Till were. Are you ready to go? Is he in there as well?"  
  
"Yes. I'm all ready, but he's, uh, in the shower. He hasn't been in there long. Don't tell me we're leaving right now?"  
  
"Oh. Tell him to hurry up, then. Bus's leaving in half an hour."  
  
"Will do."  
  
Schneider's footsteps fade away in the distance and Richard, tense and listening by the door, only lets out a sigh of relief then. Padding across the carpeted floor he reaches for his boxers and slides them on, wincing a little at the jolt of pain up his backside as he bends over; this has the additional effect of making him blush to a ridiculous extent as well despite the pain. Perhaps he and Till are not so different after all, when it comes to masochistic pleasure; they both like being burned, they both feel more alive when they're pondering severely on something as opposed to living a easy-going life, and - really - the guitarist thinks that even if their lovemaking was always painful, he'd bear it with nothing but pleasure and maybe even want it that way, simply because it's Till. The ability of attraction to change someone is truly remarkable.  
  
Pulling on the rest of his clothes (which suddenly feel a little cumbersome) save for his jacket, he walks over and knocks on the ensuite door. "Yes?" Till calls from inside.  
  
"It's me," he calls back. "Schneider just passed on the message from outside. We have thirty minutes before the bus leaves."  
  
"Ah... ah, _ich verstehe_ ," the singer responds; there's something a little breathless and uneven about his tone of voice, something that Richard inherently recognizes - and when he figures it out, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling. "I'm a little preoccupied right now... do get on the bus first. I'll be out soon."  
  
He can't resist the urge to tease his lover a little, though. "Any reason as to why you're suddenly so anxious to be left alone, hmm?"  
  
" _Ach!_ Richard, you're impossible. Just _go,_ will you."  
  
Laughing, Richard puts on his jacket and leaves the dressing room after bidding the ensuite door a ' _bis dann_ '. He walks down the corridor with a light heart, still not quite being able to believe that they've just made love, and in a dressing room out of all places - and that it was quite possibly one of the best sexual encounters that he's ever had. When he joins Flake and Paul outside to get on the bus first, he's still giddy with happiness even though his backside is aching somewhat, and contrary to what he expected he only feels more cheerful when Paul gazes at him and says: "Something looks a little different about you."  
  
"Really? You think so?" he asks jovially as they get to their respective bunks; he swings a leg over his own and lies down. Paul nods and carries on looking at him thoughtfully.  
  
"But I can't pinpoint what exactly. You just look - I don't know, _different._ "  
  
"Can't think of what it might be," Richard answers as he gazes out of the window and sees a freshly washed-and-dressed Till walking in the direction of the bus. Not wanting to give away too much, he leans back on his bunk and closes his eyes, letting out a content sigh. Till's touch, kiss and scent are all still vivid in his mind, and even though he's burning for more, it'll do for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Yep. It finally happened. Weeks of teasing you with little snippets and weeks of tantalizing waiting left, and it's finally happened. 
> 
> Well. What can I say. This is probably the longest sex I’ve ever had to write, and one of the most intense. I honestly didn’t think it was going to be this long, but then, being carried away is no longer a new thing for me as you would all know! If you had sharp eyes you probably noticed that I changed a few things in the previous chapter to fit with this one. Richard no longer hid his lube/condoms in the drawer. I couldn’t fit it in with the story otherwise. But these are very minor changes and by no means important to the story.
> 
> A section’s been cut off the end, one of about 2000 words, because this is something ridiculous like 10,000 words for just sex and it wasn’t going to fit with the limit. It’s going to fit in the third part, hopefully, which brings me to the next point: I now believe that Vision im Spiegel will be a four-parter, with three full parts and an epilogue. Kind of a mini-Silence structure. 
> 
> Will there be more sexy? You bet. <3 But for now, let’s leave these boys to recover from it. They need the time, because that’s just the first round!


	3. Genügsamkeit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein, this is strictly a work of fiction and I do not profit nor claim to represent true aspects of their lives in this story.**
> 
> Reading 'Silence' would be a good idea before this one; but even if you don't, it's specifically written so that it can be enjoyed as a simple Till/Richard romance. But I would recommend it so the full impact gets through. This chapter is NSFW, proceed with caution.

**Vision im Spiegel (Part 3)** \- _A 'Silence' Sequel_

Pairing: Explicit Till/Richard  
  
\------------------  
  
The repeat performance doesn't come until a while later, but Richard is perfectly happy with that; in fact, he probably wouldn't have had it any other way when there's so much else he could do with Till. When they get dropped off at Till's place, both agree to just turn in for the night; they share a quick meal and go to bed, snuggling under the covers and sharing body heat. It's nothing new by this point, they usually sleep together wearing boxers and nothing else.  
  
"Richard?"  
  
"Yes, Till?"  
  
The older man kisses the back of his neck and shifts beneath the covers, resting a hand on the other's hips. "You don't regret it?"  
  
"Don't be silly," Richard responds, pushing back lightly against his lover's body, sighing contentedly as the events of earlier on float back into memory. Their bodies fit perfectly together, warm and soft, and he's so pleasantly drowsy that he barely registers the worry in Till's voice. "would I have eaten dinner and gotten into bed with you right now if I was regretting it?"  
  
"I guess not," the singer says. He sounds a little bashful, almost, but the younger man can't be sure. "you just seemed quiet all evening. I thought you might have been very tired, and nothing apart from that, but... never you mind. I'm being too sensitive..." he trails off there, raises his hand and lightly strokes Richard's face, his caress soft as a spring breeze. The guitarist closes his eyes; Till isn't finished just yet, he knows that, and he's just waiting for more. "... _Lieber?_ "  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
There's a little, hesitant pause. "Can we forgo the boxers tonight?"  
  
Richard blinks for a moment, but then laughs softly as he understands. "Of course," he whispers, and turns around to kiss the tip of the other's nose before he moves his hand down and eases Till's boxers down his hips. This movement is reciprocated by the singer, and soon they've tossed the boxers to the floor and they're snuggled up closer together in bed.  
  
"Mmm," Till murmurs, feeling their nakedness pressing against the other. "ahh. It's good. It's so _different_ , but it's not. Kind of odd."  
  
Richard looks up; through the moonlight drifting in through the curtains, he sees that the singer's expression is filled with love. "Maybe it's just sex," he offers with a little smile. "after sex, people get introspective."  
  
"That might well be so."  
  
A relaxed silence falls over them. It strikes Richard then that they're currently engaged in a slightly late post-coital cuddle; there was neither room nor time to do so when in the dressing room, but here they feel like they have all the time in the world. The guitarist shifts against his lover, pressing the side of his face lightly against his chest and letting his breath fan out gently across the skin.  
  
" _Meine Liebe,_ " Till murmurs, kissing the top of the other's head. " _mein Leben... mein Scholle._ "  
  
' _Scholle_ ' is a nickname from their olden days, from a time before Rammstein and when Richard used to go around with bleached mohawks. He hasn't heard that nickname for so long that it actually takes Richard a while to process that Till's speaking to him; but when it sinks in, he looks up quickly, eyes wide in surprise. "...Till?"  
  
"Your hair... it reminded me of the past. I just wanted to call you that, one more time."  
  
"Oh," the guitarist runs his fingers through his hair; the considerably-lighter roots must be showing through. It's been a while since he's dyed it after all, during the past month of bliss it just hasn't crossed his mind. "I suppose it's time for me to dye it again."  
  
"You don't need to. Hell. Bleach it totally white, and it'd still be beautiful," Till says, and nuzzles the top of his head fondly. "like how our hair used to be back in our Sehnsucht days."  
  
Richard 'hmm's in consideration and reaches up to run his fingers through the other's hair as well. Till too dyes his hair black, albeit with less frequency or regularity compared to him, and his hair is graying at a rapid rate. But then - he does still think that Till had looked absolutely beautiful with a silvery mane during the Sehnsucht era, and even now (age considering) he thinks it'd look quite nice. "I wish you wouldn't cover your hair colour up, either. I don't care that it might be going grey, it adds a lot of character."  
  
"Meaning that I'm getting old?"  
  
"You look nice either way, dark hair or not. I don't - I swear to God I was born with the wrong colour hair. And as for age, well-" he chuckles. "-you've got _quite_ some years left in you yet, from what you showed me earlier."  
  
Till blushes and doesn't answer. Richard grins at him, triumphant, before he moves his hand downward to stroke the older man's muscular shoulders and back. "Mmm..." he murmurs, letting out a soft sigh as he nuzzles deeper into the other's arms. "heh... I'm glad... that we decided to be daring back there..."  
  
The singer smiles tiredly and tightens his embrace. "So am I, Richard... so am I..."  
  
Silence follows for the next few minutes, both lovers finally allowing their bodies to relax after a pleasantly-exhausting day. They've earned this rest. For Richard, it suddenly means so much more to be able to lie naked with Till like this, inhaling his scent and indulging in his warmth; he thinks back to that moment during the start of their lovemaking, when the older man had just held and kissed him until the pain faded to nothing, and almost immediately feels himself becoming flushed at the recollection. That situation could have ended in any number of awkward ways - Till could have pressed ahead and caused him pain, or he could have withdrawn despite the guitarist's protests, full of apologies and guilt - but he was respectful and loving, and Richard appreciates that.   
  
He looks up into Till's face. The older man's gazing down at him as well, his green eyes half-lidded and filled with adoration, and when their gazes lock in mid-air he gives Richard a smile that's both honest and yet so shy that the guitarist almost feels the urge to pin him down and kiss him into oblivion. "Till?" he asks, however, managing to resist the temptation.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
"Nighttime," Till answers contentedly, and then with a kiss on Richard's forehead, he closes his eyes and is out like a light. Amused, Richard grins to himself and nuzzles briefly against the older man - then he turns to lie on his back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking about all that's happened earlier and what they are to do now. He's spent and satisfied, pleasantly empty, and just having the older man sleeping naked next to him is a cause of contentment in itself. First he ought to be getting some sleep, it's nearly eleven right now; he casts his mind back to Till's letter, and assumes that the man might start work on the draft of their next single very soon. If he hasn't already, that is. Now that they've gone this far, that's likely the cue to invite Olli over and start work on telling everyone about their relationship. Still, even though he knows that the probability of disapproval is almost nil, he can't help but feel kind of nervous.  
  
His phone lights up silently from the bedside table at this point; noticing it, he reaches for it curiously (careful not to wake Till), seeing that he has a text from Flake. He doesn't know what might have happened that would have made the keyboardist text him at this hour, but-  
  
 _Pardon late text, I only just managed to get away from Paul.  
Heard the noises from the dressing room earlier.   
My sincere congratulations, you two._  
  
"... Oh."  
  
Richard sits there staring at the text for over a minute before a bright blush rises to his face; suddenly it all makes sense, that enigmatic look Flake was throwing them both before and after the photoshoot. He's possibly the only one out of the other four who's rightfully assumed that Richard and Till are more than just flatmates. Flake's always thrown him off regarding relationships with both him and Till for the past seventeen years, and from the looks of it, he's not lost that trait yet. _Well, this is terribly awkward. How am I going to look at him in the face ever again?_  
  
Then again. It's probably for the best that it was Flake. The keyboardist is nothing if he can't keep secrets. Of course this doesn't exactly ease the fact that he and Till have to tell everyone at some point, even in a purely band-oriented sense, but at least they still have the opportunity to do it themselves. If Paul had heard, for example, they'd never have heard the end of it. Besides, the vague bemusement between the (very few) lines of Flake's text makes him feel vaguely shy but oddly boastful at the same time. _Sincere congratulations,_ indeed. He's gone and well and truly landed himself _the_ Till Lindemann, and he couldn't ask for any better.  
  
So he closes his eyes and contentedly buries his face in Till's chest, hearing the even beating of his lover's heart, and as he too spirals into sleep decides not to worry about it for the moment. Tomorrow is another day, after all.  
  
\-----  
  
Morning creeps its way into the bedroom, but Richard is so tired from their photoshoot and subsequent tryst from the evening before that it's twelve-thirty by the time he finally opens his eyes.  
  
He turns in bed, initially lost in sweet dreams of his own with a small smile on his face; but soon he rolls over to a spot that's got the sunlight falling across his face, and he frowns and opens his eyes, staring up into the ceiling. Richard blinks a few times, vision hazy with sleep - this is his bedroom, the ceiling's streaked with sunlight, the window's closed and so are the curtains save for a little crack between them. Having confirmed all this, he gazes at the space next to him.  
  
Till is nowhere to be found.  
  
The guitarist's eyes cloud over in disappointment; for a moment he thinks it was all just a dream, that the vague recollections of last night - Till kissing his lips, caressing him, entering his body, becoming one with him, even the cuddling after - weren't real after all. But just thinking about it is making colour flood to his cheeks; sighing, he closes his eyes again, not wanting to yet wake up in a world where Till isn't by his side. Of course he'll get up soon and sate his body's dull but desperate craving for a smoke, and he doesn't doubt that Till's probably somewhere in the apartment, but if the lovemaking never happened - well-  
  
At least, he thinks that until he hears rustling and the vague sounds of someone speaking from outside.  
  
 _"Und nichts... und niemand... lädt mich zum... bleiben ein..."  
  
Huh?_  
  
Richard sits up, listening hard. A door shuts outside and the murmuring continues, but it's so inaudible now as to be completely incomprehensible to the guitarist; while that doesn't really offer any answers as to what might have been going on, looking over at the side of the bed he sees something that makes him squint in confusion - before he widens his eyes and laughs out loud. Till's boxers are still lying on the floor.   
  
_So it wasn't a dream!_  
  
This makes Richard incredibly happy; looking down at himself, he also confirms that he's completely naked and that when he turns his head around a little, he can clearly see the bruises left by Till during their lovemaking yesterday. More than enough evidence that it certainly happened. Now feeling considerably lighter, he chuckles and lays back down, snuggling deeper into the sheets and sighing in utter bliss. He inhales slowly, Till's scent still lingering in the pillows and sheets, the slightly-musky aroma delighting his senses. "Mmh," he murmurs sensuously, closing his eyes and losing himself in the recollections of last night, trying to recreate the feeling of Till's hands on his hips and him thrusting his way into his body. The memories do make him blush rather deeply, but he doesn't mind that at all, not when he can still recall the feeling of Till's length twitching inside him as he came-  
  
 _I really should get up. I must have slept for ages now._  
  
Sighing in disappointment, but knowing that he can't very well just spend the whole day in bed, Richard decisively pushes off the covers and swings his legs over, getting up. A jolt of pain travels up his spine from his backside and for a second or two he sways a little, having quite forgotten about the ache - but again, it's a pleasant reminder, and he manages to shake it off. It's not quite as bad as the evening before, and he most certainly was content with it yesterday. No reason why he can't do the same now. He opens the curtains, revealing a turquoise-blue sky speckled with clouds outside. Looking at his room, lit up with sunlight, everything suddenly feels more vivid and real - his own bruised torso in the reflection in the wall mirror, the imprint of his and Till's bodies still on the bed. Smiling, Richard nevertheless tidies the bed and picks up his and Till's boxers from the floor, briefly putting them aside before reaching for his dressing-gown; after putting it on, he opens the bedroom door and walks outside, leaning into the bathroom and tossing the garments in the laundry basket.   
  
He has a few options now. He can go and have some breakfast, he can have a shower and clean himself up somewhat, or he can go to Till. He's got to do all of those things at some point today, that's for sure; Richard 'hmm's and leans against the bathroom door, pondering, before deciding that now that he's in the bathroom, he might as well make the most use of it and have a shower. Breakfast can wait - and considering how late it is, he could very well skip it altogether without any ill effect. He closes the bathroom door and hangs up his dressing-gown, checking his naked reflection in the bathroom mirror. Looking as slim and handsome as always (he tells himself with a little smile), if somewhat disheveled, stubbled and bruised. The memory makes him blush, but he leans forwards to check his hair, also remembering what Till said the night before.  
  
 _Hmm. He was right. The roots are showing through._  
  
Maybe he should quickly go out and buy himself some hair dye when he's finished showering. But thinking of Till, Richard realizes that he doesn't really want to go anywhere today, not when there is still much to do and so much talk about with his lover - besides, waiting a few days to dye one's hair never killed anyone. With that thought in mind, he fills up the sink with warm water and shaves his face, working the razor smoothly against his skin before rinsing it and draining the sink. Then he can move onto the shower.  
  
"Ahh," he sighs, slumping against the wall of the shower as the hot water rains down upon his body. Richard closes his eyes and lets his hair soak through, lazily thinking about Till and himself and what they might be up to today; "more romping?" he says out loud, and then chuckles fondly as he ponders upon that. More romping, sure. He'd love that very much. He'd probably be content enough to stay hidden for an entire week with Till and letting him do all that he wants to him. Richard picks up the shampoo and squeezes some out onto his palm, massaging it into his scalp and hair, finally washing away the last of that unkempt feeling that comes with having been asleep for too long.   
  
Letting the spray wash most of the shampoo off his hair, he reaches for the shower gel and washcloth and works up a lather, washing his body as closely as he can manage. This has the additional effect of allowing him to survey in close detail what Till's done to his skin; he brushes at one bruise-covered area with a foam-covered hand and watches the shower spray washing it off with much interest. Closing his eyes, he picks up the showerhead and rinses his whole body off, memories returning in flashes and fading away at every press near his neck and clavicle.  
  
He runs his hands down the inside of his shoulders and down his chest. Through the hot water he can see the bruises standing out on his damp body, aching pleasantly when the shower spray rains down on him like bullets upon the skin, and smiles as he caresses them. They won't be fading in a hurry. He decides that he quite enjoys being marked by Till, and with a light heart he finishes rinsing out his hair and steps out of the shower. Richard feels good in his skin, better than ever before - why, he's perfectly willing to just run into Till's room and present himself in his naked glory, in full confidence that he will be appreciated - but nevertheless, these things require time. He dries off his body very carefully, dabbing at the moisture, puts the towels in the laundry basket and only then slips his dressing-gown back on.  
  
"All right," he murmurs to himself, then checks his reflection one more time. "looking good, Kruspe. Let's go and find Till."  
  
\-----  
  
Till proves to be where Richard expected him to be: in his room, with the same playlist as the day before yesterday playing in the background. One would think that Rammstein songs would distract Till from his tasks at hand if anything, but clearly this is not the case. Richard readjusts the dressing-gown and clears his throat, and after a pause lightly runs his fingers though his slightly-damp hair, and only then knocks on the door. "Till? It's me. Can I come in?"  
  
"Good morning, Risch," comes the hollered reply, and he takes this as the incentive to enter. When he opens the door the first thing he sees is Till's clock up on the wall, having just ticked half past one, and he has to grin.  
  
"Afternoon, rather."  
  
"Afternoon. Apologies. I've quite lost track of time."  
  
Richard enters the room fully, and sees Till smiling briefly up at him from his seat by the desk before going back to work. He's also wearing his dressing-gown, but much like Richard, he's cleaned himself up and looks presentable - his dark hair is neatly brushed, and he too is clean-shaven. His dressing gown is a little loose, and it's fallen open slightly, exposing his bare chest and making the guitarist feel oddly warm inside. There's an empty cup of coffee by his side, a laptop with its monitor off set to the side (and playing music), and five sheets of paper with various scribblings on it are scattered around the desk. From the looks of it, he's going through his standard routine that he does whenever he's writing a poem, writing a few lines down in quick succession and pausing to read them quietly aloud. He sometimes taps his pen to the meter, and if he decides that he can think of something better, he'll cross out a line and rewrite it. A painstakingly slow process for someone to watch, but that's a misleading perception. One doesn't need to look further than the man's overall output over the two decades that he's been writing.  
  
"Working on another song, Till?" Richard asks, sliding his arms around Till's shoulders and nuzzling lightly into the back of his neck. He knows that the older man quite likes being touched there, as evidenced when he turns to the guitarist with a smile and reaches over with his left hand to stroke his hair for a second or two. "that'll be our new single, I assume."  
  
" _Ei-ne Sti-mme - ja,_ you'd be right, Richard - _aus dem Licht_ -" Till's tapping out the rhythm with the pen, almost absent-mindedly, and the younger man smiles fondly at the sight. " _fällt dem Hi-mmel_ \- please don't mind me - _vom Ge-sicht_ \- I think it's coming along well."  
  
"Sounds like you should finish those lines before paying attention to me," Richard laughs, trailing a hand through the other's hair; Till shakes his head.  
  
"I already did," he says, and gives him a lopsided grin, lightly tossing the pen on the notepad. "I think I've got it down. The meter's shot to hell in the last line, but reading and singing isn't quite the same thing as you'd know. Once Olli gets out the bassline for it, it should work out. Everything else is regular, look."  
  
Richard looks at the written lines, murmuring them quietly to himself and nodding as he confirms what the singer's said. " _Trochäische Tetrameter._ "  
  
"Very good," Till rewards him with a little kiss on the inside of his wrist. Richard chuckles fondly at the sensation, feeling almost as if he were young again. "I see the times I spent sitting with you and rambling on about literary concepts were worth it."  
  
"Oh, they were worth it before. Because it was you."  
  
"You flatter me," Till beckons to him, and when the guitarist bends down he kisses his cheek. "Straightening out the second verse and working out the chorus, maybe, and that's all I need. Definitely finished by today, I can guarantee that."  
  
"That's fantastic," Richard says - and then in a burst of sudden love and happiness, he wraps both his arms around Till's shoulders and clings tight, nuzzling into the back of his neck. "You wonderful man, you... I'd treat you to a fantastic breakfast if you hadn't... You've _had_ breakfast, right?"  
  
Till shakes his head, much to the younger man's surprise. "As I said. Time runs away with me during those times. I'm quite hungry, now that you mention that, actually," he shrugs. "but I'll survive for the moment. Would you like a smoke, Richard? Celebrate with me now that the song's done?"  
  
"I much prefer you to a cigarette," he says, smiles, and kisses Till. The gesture is reciprocated, but at the same time the singer knows that he can't very well smoke something for himself and leave Richard without one; Till picks two cigarettes out of his pack and lights them both, and they open the bedroom windows wide and lean out, mutually content. Just another reason why Richard might find it hard to quit at any point, not when he can have moments like this with his lover.  
  
They remain quiet for a while. A car sounds its horn below, the trees rustle in the midsummer breeze, and a girl with two large dogs - one all black, one all white - walks along the pavement. A quiet afternoon.  
  
"Till."  
  
" _Ja?_ "  
  
He's hitting filter. Richard inhales for the last time and crushes out his spent cigarette on a nearby ashtray. "I was just wondering. About our songs."  
  
"What about them?"  
  
He gestures without looking towards the laptop on Till's desk, which at the moment is playing 'Zwitter'. "It's to do with language. We've never produced songs in English. We've covered a couple, _ja_ , and there are some English _versions_ of our songs - but they're not _original_. That only just hit me right now. You and I are different in that sense. We're both Germans, but you've stuck to German, while I've worked mostly in English... Emigrate and all."  
  
Till crushes out his own cigarette and mulls over this, raising his eyebrow. "Us being different is a bad thing?"  
  
"No, that's not what I mean," the guitarist corrects hastily. "I feel sometimes like - I should put more effort into actually working in German? I say a great deal in interviews, I guess, but what little you say and write probably matters _more_. It's quite jarring sometimes. And looking at the new lyrics, I can't help but wonder who else is going to grossly misinterpret this song this time around. All because someone up there decided that the German language should sound aggressive. I wish there was a universal language that we all understood and loved - but I don't think there is one, and out of the thousands we can choose from, most of us can only speak one or two. Kind of sobering."  
  
"I beg to differ. There are always three things we all understand."  
  
" _Was?_ "  
  
Till smiles, and Richard see something flicker in his eyes. "Maths, music and sex. As a means of communication. We've got the second one sorted, and I doubt I'd find a lot of people who'd agree that the first is a particularly cheery subject."  
  
He's very close to Richard now. The younger man steps back, suddenly feeling very warm, unsure since when Till's hand has been resting on his backside.  
  
"... Till..."  
  
The other's breath is hot and sensual against his lips. "Would you like to hear a story?" he whispers, and without waiting for a reply he grasps the guitarist by the arm and eagerly starts leading him towards the bed.  
  
" _Gott im Himmel!_ It hasn't even been a _day,_ " Richard moans as he's pushed on the bed; the singer only growls playfully in response, clearly feeling much too amorous to take that into account as he tugs at the belt holding his lover's dressing-gown in place and loosens it, pushing away the garment and revealing his body.  
  
" _Du bist..._ " the older man murmurs against his chest, licking softly around the contours of his muscles; he moves down and takes hold of the waistband of Richard's boxers in his teeth, tugging it down. " _Richard... du bist... so schön..._ "  
  
Helping the singer out of his dressing-gown as well, Richard pulls Till on top of him, shifting on the bed to better assume the position. But rather unfortunately (though not long afterwards, the two will look at the situation as quite humorous), Till's mental longing doesn't quite match up to physical prowess at the moment, much to the man's confusion and eventual frustration. It takes twenty minutes of somewhat awkward cuddling and manipulating his lax penis before they both finally come to the conclusion that it's just not going to happen right now.   
  
_Oh dear. He must be so embarrassed._  
  
"It's all right," Richard coos in Till's ear, pulling him close nonetheless. The man turns away, keeping his expression indifferent, but he's quite clearly mortified; it's not exactly the most unusual occurrence for men, but Till is admittedly not the first person Richard himself would have thought it would have happened to. "it happens, Till. You think it's never happened to me before?"  
  
"Perhaps, but I'd bet that it didn't happen during the _important_ times," the older man mutters. The guitarist smiles; he's no stranger to Till's shy and vulnerable side, but embarrassment is something slightly different. He decides that he likes it for the sheer reason that he can comfort the singer when he's feeling this way.  
  
"Mmm, it really is all right, Till," he says soothingly. "neither of us are young anymore. And you've been working for some hours now. I'd have been more surprised if you could get it up after all that work you've done, with not even breakfast to tide you over."  
  
The older man's answer to this is a little 'hmph', accompanied with a brief tensing of his shoulders as he ponders on whether to shrug or not. "I suppose," he says after a hefty pause, however, rolling over to lie on his back and sounding thoughtful. "I work better when I'm hungry, up especially late at night, tired or mildly ill. I sort of enjoy that urgent feeling. But looks like I can't really function otherwise without a full stomach. What's a man to do?"  
  
"It's nothing to be bothered about, honestly. Working under pressure is like a drug to you. Just like how sex is kind of like a well made dessert to me."  
  
"Dessert?"  
  
"Dessert," Richard nods, giving the top of Till's head a kiss. "not something I would throw a fit over not getting, especially if the main course is fantastic. Which I assure you, it is," he teases as he strokes the other's back, making him shift and mumble a little but nevertheless bringing a smile to his face. Moving down, he trails his lips softly along Till's stomach before kissing the tip of his member. "... I've always thought that it looks more attractive when flaccid. Just like that. Am I the only one who has that opinion?"  
  
"Richard, you're trying way too hard," but the embarrassment is considerably diminished from Till's expression as he laughs. He rolls over and wraps his arm around Richard after tugging him up, giving him an appreciative kiss on the mouth and holding him tight. "I'll recover. And when I do, don't expect to get away this time."  
  
"I don't plan on it."  
  
With that, and a little grin, the guitarist tightens his arms around Till's waist and nuzzles him appreciatively. He's a happy man; he's managed to make a potentially embarrassing situation lighthearted for both of them, and he's made his lover laugh. Till kisses him lightly on the forehead and he smiles up at him before pulling away gently, requesting that he be let up, and the older man complies. "We really can't go without eating something," Richard says. "and you ought to finish the lyrics, too."  
  
"True," Till says, still tangled between the sheets, but he looks thoughtful. "... did you ever get the chance to tell me about whether you want Olli to come around? Or that we go to his place?"  
  
"No, but I think it's about time that they knew."  
  
"Flake knows. He sent me a message yesterday," Till looks somewhat bashful, but at the same time, almost proud. "I didn't get it until this morning, but - well, I think he heard us when he was walking past or something..."  
  
"I know. Looks like we both have the same message. And this is Flake after all - I don't think he'd have told anyone else yet. It's up to us now."  
  
They smile at each other, at once shy and yet relieved at the thought. Richard strokes Till's back affectionately and in return, the singer gives him a look so filled with love that the younger man feels almost as if he could melt right there and then. "I'll go make us something nice. Something _grand,_ even, seeing as we've skipped a meal - and if we'd left it for an hour or two longer it'd practically be dinner. I'll make something that you'd really like, Till."  
  
"Feeding me aphrodisiacs, eh?"  
  
Richard laughs and slides off the bed, picking up his dressing gown. "Maybe. I'll go start it now. Tell me when you're done, and I'll call Olli to make arrangements."  
  
\-----  
  
One hour later, Richard's sitting in front of the oven and peering through the glass while talking on the phone. "Ja," he's saying - the lasagne is browning nicely, he's fairly sure of it, he did his best to prepare it as soon as possible - "I know this is all really sudden and normally Till or I would have contacted you guys to let you know that a song was in the works. But Gott, I only knew he even was thinking of a song two days back, and it wasn't anywhere close to being done then. He pretty much did all the work on it from this morning onwards, basically. You know what he can be like. Remember when he wrote 'Laichzeit' in three hours? Kind of like that."  
  
The timer's reached five minutes and counting down. Richard sighs and lies back on the floor, pleased at the cool floor against his bare back - he's bothered to get out of his dressing gown to put boxers and trousers on, but it's too hot to bother with a shirt. An apron is bad enough (though necessary). "Well, yes, I don't think this one is quite as incomprehensible as 'Laichzeit', no. That one only ever seems to make sense to Till and nobody else. This one's more straightforward. Title? No. Not yet. We thought you might be able to help with that."  
  
Olli laughs at the other end, and after a moment, Richard too laughs. "You can come. Marvelous. What date? Hang on, let me find a calendar-" he gets up and heads towards the fridge to peek at the side, where a calendar is indeed stuck to the surface. "today's a Saturday, and you're free until when? Tuesday? Well, I'll be out then, so that's not good, and Till might head out in the afternoon tomorrow to do the grocery shopping. Yes, I know, don't laugh, it's his turn to do it. We're flatmates, shush. We take turns because we're polite. Remember when you and I and Doom lived together? We did shopping by rotation then too. That's right, don't you forget those days now," he chuckles, then calms down as he peers at the calendar. "Monday sound good to you?"  
  
"It does, Risch."  
  
" _Fantastic_. What time?" Olli quickly excuses himself at the other end to check his schedule, and Richard glances at the oven. One minute left to go. "ten thirty is fine. Neither me nor Till are doing anything then. So I'll see you then, _ja._ "  
  
The timer is ticking forty seconds to go when Olli asks the casual question: "So what's the song roughly about - religion, politics, tough love, heartwrenching ballad, or sex? It's about sex, isn't it?"  
  
"Oh, from what I saw it's not-" but then the thought of _why_ the bassist is suddenly insisting on such a thing strikes him, and Richard suddenly finds himself grasping at the edge of the counter, suddenly feeling flushed. _He knows. Oh my God, he knows._ "-it's, um, purely political from what I gathered of it. What - uh, what makes you say it's about sex?"  
  
"Hmm?" Olli sounds completely non-assuming and baffled. "no particular reason. Just that, we do so many songs about sex. So goddamn _many_. And Till tends to finish those ones fairly rapidly. I figured that it being about sex was very likely, considering you said he finished it so fast and all... hey, are you all right?"  
  
"Ah. That. Of - of course I am," thankfully, Richard is saved by the oven timer going off. "oh, _verdamnt_ , that's the lasagne... I need to go, Olli. Me and Till haven't eaten for hours and we desperately need it. See you Monday, _ja? Bis bald!_ "  
  
"Lasagne?" Olli asks bemusedly from the other end as Richard hangs up and hurriedly switches off the timer and temperature. He opens the oven door slightly, enough that it will retain residual heat but just enough that it'll start cooling down; the lights in the oven also go off in response, but he's quite confident that the lasagne is well-done enough as it is that he figures that he doesn't need to check.   
  
" _Gott,_ " he mumbles to himself, taking a deep breath and then letting it out as a relieved sigh. "... that was a close one."  
  
"Close to what?"   
  
Richard turns around; Till's grinning at him from just outside his room, holding an armful of folded laundry and towels. He's changed into a dark shirt and trousers, which despite being fairly loose still compliments his form. "Here," he says, and tosses Richard a dishcloth from the top of the pile. "you may need it, Richard. Wonderful lasagne, I can see that. I'm looking forward to it," he then briefly adjusts the pile. "who were you talking to?"  
  
"Olli. He says he'll be able to come around tomorrow. Half past ten,"  
  
"Noted. But what else did he say, your face is still red."  
  
"Nothing in particular," Richard responds, and chuckles, beginning to see the humour in it. "just had a moment where I thought Flake had spread the word to everyone, that was all. False alarm."  
  
"Silly thing. I've put your clothes on your bed."  
  
Richard responds in the affirmative; glad that that's over and done with, he opens the fridge and takes out a few vegetables. There's a can of pineapple in there and Richard's just taken it out for a look when Till returns to the kitchen - brandishing a full box of chocolates. " _Mein Gott,_ Till! Where did that come from?"  
  
"I bought it two days back. When I gave you my letter. I honestly had no idea what you'd say to it, but if things had gone exactly as I planned - as in, you consented and wanted to get on with it shortly afterwards - then I'd have brought those out after making love to you, whenever that would be. Feed you a couple. I ought to have done this last night," Till grins and kisses his bare shoulder, tugging down the apron strap. "but this is fine too. Better, in fact."  
  
"You can still feed me one."  
  
"And spoil your appetite for lunch?"  
  
Richard laughs, and closes the fridge door. "I think my appetite for you trumps general food-related appetite. Go right ahead, meine Liebe."  
  
And Till does. He sets the box down on the counter, safely away from the heat of the oven, and opens the packaging. When the guitarist glances over he sees with much delight that they're Kirschwasser milk chocolates. "Oh, Till. From Schladerer too. Fantastich," Till just smiles and plucks one out - it's small and perfect, with a sugar crust on top - and Richard lets him gently push the chocolate between his lips; he slides his tongue around the other's fingers when that's done, causing him to let out a low purring sound. "mmmh. You spoil me."  
  
"I do. I'm far from being done with the spoiling, Richard. I think I do need to make that very clear," the singer says, and bends over to lick a little smudge of chocolate from the other's lip. "all clean. I'll go lay out the table now. We can resume with the chocolates later."  
  
"Tease."  
  
But true to his word, Till lays out the table and puts the chocolate box back in the fridge while the guitarist is serving up the lasagne, garnished with a light salad sprinkled with little bits of the pineapple as an improvisation. Soon enough they're sitting together, enjoying their meal (Till compliments him on the food, which always makes the younger man happy) and just talking together like the good friends that they are. Of course things aren't exactly the same as before - it's hard to really take into account that they made love less than twenty-four hours ago and that just a day ago they wouldn't be incorporating all those extra gestures and hints into their routine. Halfway through his lasagne Till pauses and pours them both some wine from a nearly-finished bottle, clinking their glasses together and looking deeply into Richard's eyes as he drinks and licks his upper lip. Not one to lose, Richard presses his leg against Till's coyly, giving him a silent but suggestive look. Those moments of lust were permeating their everyday actions before, but not in these quantities.  
  
Not that Richard is complaining. He can foresee that it'll be a while before they both settle down.  
  
"We've still got some _Kirschtorte_ left, haven't we?" Till asks when they finally set their cutlery aside and push the empty plates away. The guitarist nods. "just what I needed. We need to finish that off. Would you like some of it, or would you rather we had some chocolates instead? I mean, it's still not that old."  
  
The younger man ponders on this; he would quite like some of the chocolates, yes, seeing as Till bought it for him. But then Till baked the cake for him as well, if he really thinks about it; probably best that he keep to that order of things. Neither food items are going anywhere. " _Kirschtorte, bitte._ "  
  
"If you're sure."  
  
Soon the dishes are left soaking in the sink, the leftover lasagne covered up and placed in the fridge, and the two men settle down on the sofa with their respective plates of cake. Till and Richard usually find that desserts are the quietest times of their already low-key days together, for the simple reason that they both have a notorious sweet tooth that they have to fulfill. Today, despite the significant changes that have taken place within their relationship, is not much different. Richard curls up with his feet on the armrest of the sofa while leaning on Till, and the singer skims through the morning newspaper that he never quite got the chance to read. Nothing particularly newsworthy; their previous day's photoshoot hasn't been publicized yet. Opening of a new bakery downtown, a body piercing studio winning an award, a lavish marriage taking up two double-page spreads with advertisements for wedding rings in the corner. Till smiles briefly down at that before closing the paper, folding it up and tossing it on the armchair.  
  
" _Gut?_ " Richard nods, chewing. Till also picks up his fork and slices off a large chunk of the cake.   
  
"You know your cakes are always good," the younger man says when he's finished swallowing; he licks the icing off the fork, looking almost wistful for more. "why do you ask every time?"  
  
"Because from the very moment I manage to make a bad cake, your generalization is automatically untrue. I'd quite like to know when it happens so I can offer you my most sincere apologies and cover you in kisses."  
  
"Hahaha," the guitarist laughs, his head lolling slightly to rest on the crook of Till's neck. "with that kind of offer, you can make as many bad cakes as you want. And why stop at just kisses? Icing, whipped cream and cherries would do just as well!"  
  
Till pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth, and glances at the younger man with an odd look for several seconds; if Richard didn't know better at this point, he might have felt uncomfortable, but soon enough the singer grins. "That's certainly a reason to mess up," he purrs, his voice low and sultry as he eyes up his lover. "remind me of that sometime, hmm, _meine Liebe?_ "  
  
"Of course," he shivers a little in excitement, watching that smoldering gaze. "anything for you."  
  
They stay quiet until they both finish their cakes after that. But the mood has changed again, from a simple homeliness to a playful tension. Richard sets down his plate on top of Till's when he's finished and changes positions, curling up closer to the older man's body and resting his cheek against his shoulder. "... So. What now for the rest of the day?"  
  
"Well, I was thinking you needed guitar practice," comes the casual reply. Richard blinks; that's not quite the answer that he was expecting, though it is true that he usually has an hour of practice around this time of the day. "and I'd quite like another shower to freshen me up. You don't mind it if I had one now? The faster I can do that, the faster I can get back to you."  
  
"... Well, of course. But so soon after you've eaten?"  
  
"I ate just enough, I'm not feeling too bad. Besides, it's quite hot in here."  
  
This is true. Richard just isn't as affected by heat compared to Till. With the affirmation that he can do so, the older man gives Richard a chocolate-and-cherry flavored kiss and heads towards the bathroom, picking out his towels and closing the door behind him. Richard, however, stays put where he is. He could do anything while waiting for the older man - he could wash up, he could start practicing and Till will probably join him in the practice room halfway, but right now he feels as if something's been cut short and that's not a very comfortable feeling.  
  
 _Though..._  
  
Richard gets up and walks towards the bathroom. Standing outside, he can just about hear the faint thump of Till's clothes hitting the floor, along with the rustle of them being folded up, and grins softly as an idea comes to mind.  
  
\-----  
  
Till's started the shower. Richard listens outside and smiles to himself before putting his idea into action; he unbuttons his trousers and steps out of them, folding them up neatly as an afterthought and placing them by the door. Next and the only thing left to go are the boxers, which he too slides down his legs, aware of his already-straining erection at the thought of what he's going to do. On one hand he has absolutely no idea what is going to happen and is nervous - maybe Till won't think being intruded upon in the shower is particularly sexy and he'll ask him to leave. The man's firmly against being intruded upon, full stop.   
  
But on the other hand, it's another opportunity for them to be naked in each other's company, and Till would hardly be able to blame Richard for being horny. He's certain that he can coax Till to see his view of things - with that conviction he quietly tries the door, finding it unlocked as he expected, and opens it a little, peering inside.  
  
 _There he is..._  
  
Till's with his back to him, the shower stall steamed up enough to conceal them from each other. Richard quietly shuts the door behind him, and silently tiptoes over to the shower stall, making sure Till isn't holding anything that he might drop out of shock before mustering up his courage, sliding the stall door open, and stepping in.  
  
"Hello," he whispers, seeing Till tense up as the sudden rush of cool air hits his back. "hello, you."  
  
The older man whirls around; but before he can do so fully, Richard's arms are around his waist. "It's just me," he purrs softly against Till's back, pressing a kiss on it and making sure that the man can feel his erection pressing against him. "I thought I might join you."  
  
"Oh," Till can only say, still rather surprised, but he nevertheless relaxes and smiles a little perplexedly when Richard nuzzles into the back of his shoulder, kissing it softly. "heh... what brought this on?"  
  
"Hmm," comes the muffled, yet playful, reply. "I decided that I don't particularly enjoy being parted from you, after over ten years of experiencing it. I hope you don't mind."  
  
"... No, of course I don't."  
  
Richard grins up at him, and Till turns his head to the side to return it, if somewhat shyly. "Let me," he whispers, and takes the bottle of shower gel from the side, pouring some onto the washcloth and holding the singer still as he rubs the washcloth over his body. Washing someone else is a completely different affair, and also somewhat awkward because this is Till and he's taller than him - but when the man shivers and lets out a little moan at the silky sensation, Richard is spurred to continue on. Much to Till's surprise (and mild embarrassment), the guitarist's right hand (the one not holding the washcloth) wander downwards, lightly stroking and smearing foam on the area between his legs; Richard smiles at confirming his suspicions. "I was wondering whether it was working now. Looks like it."  
  
It's a shame that he can't look at Till's face properly, but he can see enough to notice that the man's blushing furiously. The older man stands still, and he looks like he's not entirely sure what to do about this situation - all the better, Richard quite likes having the upper hand. He gently reaches up from behind the man and picks up the detachable showerhead, directing the stream of water towards the other's body and washing away the foam. Till lets out a soft 'Mmm' when he feels Richard's hand roaming his skin, cleaning him; in the steam, with rivulets of water running down his body, his body is more well-defined than ever.   
  
He's gorgeous. Without quite thinking about it the guitarist leans forwards and trails a lick down the back of his shoulder, hearing the other's breath catch; his hands are already on Till's chest, contouring lovingly to the swell of his muscles. Till's scent is so heavy by this point - sweet and male and musky - that it's driving Richard absolutely mad.  
  
"So," Richard purrs, getting on tiptoes so he can nip and lick at the other's earlobe. "can I have my story now?"  
  
With some coercion, Till backs up against the wall, moaning quietly as his head rests on wet tile. His eyes are shut, and he's so lost in pleasure that he doesn't notice that Richard's moved down; when he opens his eyes again, he finds the younger man embracing him, licking at one of his nipples in an almost catlike way. Till shudders and lets out a trembling sigh as Richard nips at the hardened nub, pressing with the tip of his tongue before closing his mouth around it and sucking ever so gently. The younger man grins as he realizes that his lover's more sensitive than he lets on, and he pulls back, very much pleased.  
  
"I want to do something for you," he says softly; reaching down, he grasps Till's length in one hand, hearing the sharp intake of breath and a barely-suppressed moan coming from him. His curiosity sufficiently perked up at this positive reaction, he kneels down on the shower floor, making his intentions clear. (His height is just adequate enough to make this work.) Till, blinking out the shower spray from his eyes, stares at him for a moment before understanding dawns on his face.   
  
"Richard," he says quietly. "you... don't have to..."  
  
"Don't give me that. I want to. And I know that you'd like it if I did," the guitarist answers, and smiles as he fondles the length. "what did I tell you. It's beautiful. I'd quite like to see how it tastes."  
  
At these blunt words Till blushes so deeply and so suddenly that Richard finds himself rather surprised for a moment or two. The singer's hardly emotionless, but at the same time he is far more in control of his emotions than the younger man. "I haven't actually done this before," he admits, even though he figures that Till knows already. "but well... I've had it done to me, I know what it feels like, and... heh, I'm still a man, right? I know what men like. I'm going to try my best. But... but if I hurt you at any point, please stop me, okay?"  
  
It's not one-hundred-percent visible through the steam, but eventually the older man gives a shy nod. Richard takes that as the cue to start kissing the length all over, starting from the tip and down to the base, loving its silky-smooth heat; he gives the tip an experimental lick with the very end of his tongue, forcing out a soft whimper from Till, before taking as much as he can in his mouth. It's harder than it seems; he immediately becomes slightly frustrated when he can only manage about half with ease, but then this is the first time. He'll learn, although he would certainly prefer it if Till could have the maximum pleasure right now. Eager, he slowly and gently slides his tongue around Till's member and swirls it around the tip once, before pressing down with an experimental bob of his head and then pulling back. Till moans from above him, and Richard's eyes slide shut in pleasure as he rests one hand on Till's hip and the other at the base of his member, making up for what he can't yet take in.  
  
 _... Oh, wait..._  
  
What's he going to do when Till comes? Would he swallow? Could he? He hasn't thought that far ahead; suddenly feeling a little weird, he steals a glance at Till's face (harder to do than expected, because he has to crane his head) to see that the other's expression is one of barely-restrained ecstasy. Then he figures that Till might like it if he could swallow - well, he could try, at least, there's no harm in that-  
  
"Ahh... ah, _Richard_..." Till's panting, his hands trembling as he rakes his fingers through the other's hair. Knowing that he's holding back as much as he can to avoid shoving his head downwards, Richard gives him a grateful look and resumes what he was doing. When he sweeps the tip with his tongue again he tastes the other's precum for the first time, slightly salty-sweet, and he pulls away to lap at it eagerly; to make up for the lack of his mouth he grasps the erection in one hand and pumps it in long, even strokes, making sure that Till's getting as much pleasure as possible while at the same time not being able to come. The older man lets out a little whimper at this and gives him a pleading look, but Richard isn't letting up just yet.  
  
He quite enjoys being dominating, actually. Maybe it'll be a while before he'll be able to get away with it on a regular basis, considering Till is much larger and stronger than he is, but - why not, indeed.   
  
" _Du,_ " he whispers, pausing for a moment and only half-certain that his words are audible through the shower. He then glances up, eyes locking with Till's own as he slowly and _very deliberately_ slides his tongue against the slit of his member. " _du machst mich an._ "  
  
Unbeknownst to Richard, that's when Till can't take it any more. He lets out a sudden growl, startling Richard into pulling away and blinking up at him; "Oh, I _see_ ," he says, and his voice is so filled with lust and danger that the guitarist can't help but shiver in half-fear and anticipation, wondering what he might have done wrong. Till bends down and roughly tugs him up, turning off the shower and opening the door hard enough to make the walls of the stall rattle precariously. Before Richard can get a word in or even let out a sound, the singer grabs him and pulls him out of the bathroom without a word; just like that, Richard is dragged to Till's bedroom and all but thrown on top of the bed, letting out a whimper of surprise. Somehow that whimper only heightens the primal urge within the older man, and he roughly climbs on top of the guitarist to push him down against the sheets, giving no more than half a second to react before he pins his arms down and runs his tongue down Richard's chest.  
  
"Till," he cries out loud as Till kisses the tips of his nipples, teasing them softly, before countering the gentle action with a surprisingly hard pinch and provoking another (louder) cry from him. "nngh, Till, you animal - that's-"  
  
Till stops, the brief madness fading from his eyes. "... Am I hurting you?"  
  
"No, I just... that came out of nowhere, that's all-"  
  
"Well, you were kneeling on the floor and telling me that I was turning you on," the man growls; he adjusts his position to stay more comfortable, pressing his rock-hard erection into Richard's thigh. "what in the world _else_ were you expecting me to do?"  
  
"Ohh," Richard moans, throwing back his head as Till kisses and nips along his throat, agitating the bruises from the night before. "Till, I - I know you're eager and all, but... but am I permitted to make myself more attractive to you before we start?"  
  
"Pah. Like you can go any further than now?" but Till nevertheless moves off him reluctantly, fixing a half-predatory and half-loving gaze upon him. "be quick about it, Richard. Enough with the waiting!"  
  
Of course, Richard being Richard, and being perhaps a little more exhibitionistically vain than he would acknowledge - Till's last comment goes ignored. Richard slowly gets up and walks out of the room, keeping his movements as neutral as possible; he could saunter or add a more sensual edge to his movements, but he's sensed that willful ignorance frustrates his lover more than active seduction. He goes into his room and grabs his bottle of vanilla cologne before walking straight back out, quite enjoying the way that Till's staring at his naked body. Slowly, calmly, the guitarist sits himself back down on the bed and sprays cologne lightly over his throat, chest and wrists, patting it into his warm, damp skin and filling the room with a wonderfully sensual aroma. He never looks away from Till's gaze throughout this, his expression also neutral and perfectly controlled. The older man's breathing is very rough by this time, almost a series of low, barely-restrained growls from deep within his chest.  
  
"Savor me," Richard whispers, and lies on his back on the bed. Till is upon him within seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And woe is the day, for Kimbk has ended a sexy chapter with a cliffhanger. 
> 
> A fairly easygoing chapter. You just know that when I write in a relaxed pace like this for a sex fic that I'm getting ready to really accelerate things for the next. But that's for the fourth and last chapter and this is for this: and I have to say, I'm fairly surprised that how quickly this was written. I stopped working on Vision so I could finish LWFR ch. 6 for quite some weeks, and then picked it back up less than a week ago. It's also comfortably shorter than the sort of things I've been doing lately, that's probably a good point. 
> 
> Nobody ever writes about erectile dysfunction in fanfiction. The human body isn't fully functioning all the time and it's not something to get overtly embarrassed about. And Till does recover, so no worries there.
> 
> Richard's old nickname from when he went around with a bleached mohawk ('looked like a stripy squirrel' is how Till himself eventually put it in their biography) was indeed 'Scholle', I do believe. Along with quite a few other variants of 'Zven'. And yes, they are writing 'Mein Land'! > w w 


	4. Zusammen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein, this is strictly a work of fiction and I do not profit nor claim to represent true aspects of their lives in this story.**
> 
>  
> 
> Reading 'Silence' would be a good idea before this one; but even if you don't, it's specifically written so that it can be enjoyed as a simple Till/Richard romance. But I would recommend it so the full impact gets through. This chapter is NSFW, proceed with caution.

**Vision im Spiegel (Part 4 + Epilogue)** \- _A 'Silence' Sequel_  
  
\----------------------------  
  
He is pounced upon and pinned to the bed with no dignity whatsoever as Till claims his prize for the evening; Richard moans underneath him, leaning back to expose more of his neck, inviting his lover to mark him as much as he can. This invitation is taken up immediately, Till deliberately going for the sensitive bruises from the previous day for a few moments before he moves towards the front. He'll be quite covered by love-bites all over his body by the end, but for now Richard barely cares. No one but Till is going to see for the next couple of days either way.  
  
"Ahh," he whimpers, shivering as Till gently circles his nipple with a broad thumb; the older man smirks and moves further down, letting out a low, lustful growl from deep inside his throat as he licks a trail down the other's stomach to his navel. His eyes are dark and somewhat glazed over, him so intoxicated by the smell of Richard - masculine, husky with a strong aroma of vanilla mingled in it - that he doesn't even care that they're getting the sheets wet with their still-damp bodies as he presses his lover further into the bed. Without quite realizing what he's doing, Richard regains his dominance by tightening his fingers in Till's hair - the singer tenses and whines a little, confused - and shoving him downwards to come face-to-face with his now-leaking erection.  
  
"You know what to do," the guitarist says, not quite believing what he's saying even as the words leave his mouth. Till stares at him silently, and for a moment he thinks that the older man won't consent; so it's still the surprise of his life when he obediently lowers his head and starts to kiss his erection softly. He even manages to look somewhat inquisitive about the whole thing, giving the tip of the length almost a curious lick and letting out a small 'hmm' as he tastes Richard's precum on his tongue. Indeed, the only thing he actually utters is a quiet 'mind my piercings, Richard' as he brushes his fringe back and gets to it properly.  
  
Till remains fairly silent as he slowly moves down and takes the other's member deeper into his mouth. If not for the fact that the singer himself can't seem to progress beyond a certain point, Richard might have felt somewhat inadequate for being less experienced; it still feels amazing, though, and he's most definitely not complaining as he strokes the back of Till's neck and coos encouragement to him. He wonders whether this - or something similar to this - was what Till felt back in the shower, and feels a little surge of mischief arise within him. Without warning - and bracing himself too for any pain or negative reactions - he slides his hand back up, grabs Till's hair, and pushes his head deeper down.  
  
" _Mmph!_ " is Till's startled reaction; Richard lets go just as quickly, afraid that he might have hurt the other. The older man pulls up for breath, having choked slightly on Richard's member; when he opens his eyes the younger man is shocked to see unshed tears clinging to his eyelashes, doubtless from having been surprised.  
  
"Oh - oh no, I'm so sorry, Till-"  
  
The singer shoots him a look as if to convey that he's going to get him back for that, and plunges his mouth down on the other's member with even more vigor than before (if anything). One of his hands skims the inside of Richard's thighs, a finger tracing a line between the younger man's erection and his twitching entrance, and with the sensation of Till's hot, tight mouth around him and the sudden rush it's not long before the guitarist arches his hips and cries out as he comes. Till stays completely still, letting the other's cum spill into his mouth - his expression doesn't change much, either, even when the guitarist has finished and has slumped back down onto the sheets, panting heavily. Then he withdraws and dutifully swallows; there are no comments from him as to what it tastes like, but Richard doesn't have much illusions as to that and his feelings are confirmed from the other's slight frown. "Let me," he manages to whisper, reaching down with one hand and tapping him awkwardly on the shoulder. Till moves up, his still-present erection pressing into the other's thigh, and Richard pulls him close so he can lick off the remainder of cum in the corner of the other's lips.  
  
Till makes a face at the touch. " _Mnh_. That tickles."  
  
"My pleasure," the guitarist says, and can't hold back his grin. "you were fantastic. But don't you need to come as well?"  
  
The older man's response is to place a hand underneath Richard's back, rolling him over lightly to lie on his stomach. "You can help me take care of that," he smirks, and kisses the nape of his neck, moving over him and rubbing his erection lightly over the other's thigh. Richard lets out a soft, shaky laugh as he feels Till kissing down his back, tracing his spine with his tongue. Just the fact that he's being tasted, savored and enjoyed by Till like this would be enough; knowing that there's more, and that there will always be more, is almost too much for him to handle and he reaches blindly towards the dresser.  
  
"Till... mmm..."  
  
"Anything you want, Risch?" the older man grins, looking up and gently kissing him on the thigh, making Richard squirm.  
  
"... My bag... corner... could you give it to me?"  
  
Till considers for a moment, not wanting to leave Richard; but he does oblige and gets off the bed, albeit reluctantly, to fetch the bag. The younger man takes it with a ' _danke_ ' and sits up, peering inside and fishing around in it while Till watches him. "Found what you're looking for?"  
  
"... No... Yes..." Richard mumbles faintly as his hand closes around the bottle of lube; he pulls it out and tosses it lightly onto the bed. "but... where's the..."  
  
"Hmm?" Till has picked up the lubricant; he's already twisted open the top and is about to pour some out when Richard, having come to one terrible conclusion, covers his face with his hands and lets out a groan. "... Risch, what is it?"  
  
"Oh, fuck," Richard moans, and lets the bag drop limply to the floor as he too sinks back down onto the sheets. "I think I left the condoms in the dressing room."  
  
"... Ah."  
  
"Six Euros down the drain. _Lieber Gott._ They're so _expensive._ "  
  
For a second or two there is an awkward silence, both now rather lost as to what to do. "We could," Till speaks up first, hesitates, then falters. "... hmm. No. The nearest store isn't - what would you call it - near enough, as it were. And I don't think... either of us really want to lose the mood-"  
  
"If we aren't losing it already from this mishap, that is," the guitarist chuckles, attempting to lighten up things. But he has to agree, really, considering he initiated all of this in the shower in the first place. So he simply does what makes the most sense to him right now; he reaches down to lightly grasp the other's member, pushing himself against it and giving the other a half-coy look. "... how about we just - keep on going without it?"  
  
Till's eyes widen for a second at the implications, before a concerned expression replaces his surprise. "Are you..." he murmurs softly, lowering his face to Richard's and brushing the quickest and lightest of kisses against his lips. "... sure?"  
  
"Well, we're both safe, right?"  
  
"I'd have sat you down and told you if I wasn't, but what if you aren't comfortable-"  
  
" _Doch!_ Come on," Richard dismisses, tugging Till down for another kiss, longer and lustier this time. "put it... in me already..."  
  
There's no sense in prolonging the agony any longer. Till skips the foreplay from then on and grasps at the bottle of lube again; Richard manages to lift his upper body with his elbows and look down at his lover, now almost painfully hard and throbbing as he slicks his erection with the liquid. Watching this, Richard obligingly parts his legs as Till moves closer.  
  
"So you'd like to do it this way?"  
  
Richard nods shyly. "I want to see you this time," he answers, his eyes hazy with lust and adoration, letting out an impatient whimper as his gaze fixes on Till's. "I want you on top of me. I want to be able to just touch you without having to reach around. I want to kiss and hold you too."  
  
"You want a great many things, Richard," Till says, tutting at him, and lowers his hand to the circle the rim of the other's entrance with a slick finger. Richard tenses and shivers in response. "you're terribly impatient, you know."  
  
"Could you blame me? Honest - _mmmph-_ "  
  
The older man silences him by slipping two fingers on his other hand between Richard's lips. "You also talk entirely too much, my love," he says, smirking as the younger man blushes and meekly begins to lick and suckle at his fingers; he lets that go on for a minute or so before sliding them back out, Richard licking softly at his fingertips as he does so. "much better," the singer nods in approval, and quickly gets to lubing the other up; it's done in a slightly more rushed manner than the day before but neither of them honestly care, not when they're too eager to just get going. Nevertheless, Till is considerate enough to find the sensitive gland and brush over it a few times, making the younger man squirm in pleasure, before he withdraws. They're going to be in a different position now, and Till finding that sweet spot this time around isn't a guarantee. When that's done, the older man moves into position, lifting Richard's legs up until the head of his member is brushing against his entrance, and guides himself inside without a word.  
  
Richard cries out again as Till enters him; it's not something he'll get used to extremely quickly, and it still hurts the second time. It probably doesn't help that their bodies are at a different angle and that Till is moving a little faster than the day before. Till is no less alarmed with this the second time, either; "Are you all right?" he asks softly, stopping all movement and gazing at Richard with a worried expression on his face.  
  
"Y-yes... give me... time to adjust..."  
  
"Mm," the older man whispers, and bends down to press a reassuring kiss to his mouth. Richard accepts, willing his body to relax faster; but it's not quite as simple as that, and he does end up whimpering and squirming in pain for a minute or so before he calms down enough for Till to continue. _I could accept him inside me just yesterday,_ he thinks to coax himself into relaxing, as he feels the other sliding deeper into him, spreading his legs a little wider. _And I'll be damned if I can't do it again..._  
  
After several agonizing seconds Till stops, now fully buried inside Richard; he lowers the other's legs and pulls his hips close, getting used to being joined together in this position. Contrary to what the younger man expected, he too has an odd and slightly pained expression on his face, and this realization distracts Richard sufficiently that he forgets about his aching body. "... Till?"  
  
"I'm - no, I'm all right..." the older man murmurs, and somewhat awkwardly adjusts the angle they're in. "there you go... it feels a little strange without a condom, and I... kind of feel like I'm forcing you to contort your back in ways that - ooh - it shouldn't."  
  
"I'll get used to it."  
  
A little pause, and then Till decides that he's ready to move; he tests the waters with a slow, gentle thrust, and when Richard responds with a quiet moan and wraps his legs around his hips, he rapidly quickens his pace. He's not hitting the prostate, but the sensation of him sliding in and out feels almost as good, and the air is so thick with his and Till's scents mingled together that he can barely focus. His hand wanders down to grasp at his member, stiffened again from the pleasure coursing through his body, stroking it to their rhythm.  
  
" _Ja,_ " he breathes out, his head sinking further into the pillows as he stares into Till's eyes. "harder... more, _more_ , Till, I want you to fuck me harder, I want you to fill me up..."  
  
Till cuts him off abruptly with an appreciative kiss. "As you wish," he says with some humor, and thrusts particularly hard into the younger man, coaxing out a cry of half pain and half delight. " _komm für mich,_ " he growls in the other's ear before nipping hard at the flesh. Richard shivers - he adores it when Till whispers or breathes in his ear - but instead of turning his head away, he decides to take advantage of his newfound freedom for the first time and tugs the older man down with his spare hand, trailing his tongue down to the other's neck and sucking hard enough to bruise. His first proper mark on Till, one of countless ones to come.  
  
The singer gasps as Richard tears his mouth away from the love-bite, the bruised area aching lightly upon contact with air. He manages to get him back with a proper kiss, coaxing the guitarist's lips apart and brushing his tongue against his lower lip ever so lightly. Till isn't usually the one who initiates deep kisses between the two of them, so it's a nice surprise. They lock lips for a little longer, and then Till slips his tongue in the other's mouth to barely touch Richard's own, withdrawing playfully when he tries to get more contact.  
  
"You're awful," the younger man whines. Till pauses for just a second too long to answer, for it is during that very brief moment of silence that the two of them suddenly become aware that Till's laptop (on the desk) is still playing through their songs, and has been doing so for some hours. They've been far too busy either trying to establish a position or trying to get comfortable to notice; later they'll look through and realize that they somehow managed to completely ignore such delights as 'Wollt Ihr Das Bett In Flammen Sehen?', 'Mein Teil' and 'Dalai Lama' and they'll get some good laughs out of it, but right now is a different story.  
  
"Should we... um, turn the music off?"  
  
Till considers for a moment, shakes his head. "Leave it on. I've always wondered what it would feel like to do it with some of our songs playing in the background."  
  
 _".. Wir teil-en Zimmer - und das Bett..."_  
  
"... Till, are we seriously going to do this to a song about sibling incest?"  
  
" _Ja,_ " Till grins, diving down to kiss and lick at his clavicle. "after all, it's not just any song - it's _our_ song about sibling incest. Got a problem with that?"  
  
"Hell no," Richard growls, pulling the singer closer for another kiss. And indeed there isn't a problem; they're both being vocal enough to drown out most of it, too lost in each other and their own rhythm to really pay attention to it. That's certainly a perk to consider, being able to stay as loud as they want - something they couldn't do in the dressing room. Till seems surprised at how much louder Richard is than before, but certainly isn't complaining. Now that they've settled and gotten used to this position, Richard finds it far more soothing than doing it from behind; it requires a little more work from his part, but he can now look up at Till, touch him freely, and pull him down for a kiss without a problem. For the younger man - who's sensitive and gives much weight to loving kisses between the two of them - this is a massive advantage. It's probably better for Till's knees as well, being able to rest them on a soft, yielding surface. And more than anything, it's much more playful this time; it's everything sex should be, and without the awkwardness of their first time. Till's so hard and the friction is delightful and it's clear that Richard's cologne is turning him on - his eyes half-slide shut when he runs his tongue over the younger man's collarbone as if he can actually taste the sweetness of vanilla, so utterly delicious and erotic that he can barely hold it-  
  
"Spiel... spiel mit-" Richard mumbles in a kind of soft, hypnotic chant, his eyes glazed over in pleasure. He pulls down the older man's head close to his, kissing him in a lusty manner; it's an almost-mindless meshing of lips and tongue, both of them too lost in desire to even kiss properly. Till speeds up a little, grinding his hips harder against Richard's and provoking a loud, ecstatic cry from him; the guitarist's toes have curled at the sheer intensity of the pleasure, something that he doesn't fail to notice as he tightens his hold on the younger man.  
  
"Risch..." Till whispers, but then falters as he finds that he can say nothing else. Richard looks up at him with kiss-swollen lips as the other pounds into him; Till is strong, pressing ahead with powerful, rolling thrusts, forcing eager cries and screams out of the younger man, bringing them closer to climax. Beckoning the singer to move over him, he arches his back and raises his head, reaching for and teasing a hardened nipple with his lips and tongue; he nips lightly at the pink flesh before sucking on it eagerly, wanting to make his partner moan and cry out as much as possible.  
  
He's successful. Till shudders heavily and actually slumps forwards, having not expected that in the slightest. " _L-lieber... Gott!_ "  
  
"Oh," Richard pants out, and despite his pleasure he finds himself rather worried and stops what he's doing. "I... I didn't... hurt you, right?"  
  
Another pause. Till's voice roars out the final ' _Spiel mit mir!_ ' of the song in the background, and both flinch at the sound, staring at the laptop - then back to each other - before realizing just how absurd that whole moment was. "No," Till says slowly. "no, Richard, I'm-" he bites his lip, his shoulders now shaking with mirth. "-fine, so don't - oh, _pfft_ -"  
  
Without warning he collapses into hapless laughter, Richard joining in shortly afterwards. "Oh," Till chuckles, wiping tears out of his eyes. "that was terrible. We probably shouldn't use our music while we're trying to make love."  
  
"It could have been worse. It could have been 'Mann Gegen Mann'."  
  
This sets them both off again. It takes quite a few seconds before Till manages to choke out (through his laughter) a 'come here, you' and they kiss, more fond of each other than ever, before they resume what they were doing.  
  
The playlist's cycle has finished and the room is silent save for the noises they're making; but they've stopped taking that into account a while ago. And to think Richard thought that doing it with his back turned to Till was amazing enough; now that he and the older man are facing each other, able to lick and kiss and feel each other's heat any time they want, he decides that he likes this position much better. There is so much of Till to taste; he frantically kisses the crook of Till's neck, sliding his tongue against the delicate skin, tasting sweat and lust and the vaguest hint of spice and citrus shower gel. He adores the the curve of the other's throat, the fact that it houses his larynx - what brought the entire band together, in that sense - and now he's lying here, panting and being taken by Till, free to mark his possession upon him. He caresses the other's now somewhat-tangled hair, his kiss-bruised lips, the piercing scar on his left cheek, loving every touch.  
  
Richard doesn't know how much of a beautiful image he's presenting to Till in that moment; he's panting softly and bucking against every thrust, every muscle taut and his nipples hard and pink and cheeks flushed a deep red. All he can concentrate on is matching his lover's rhythm and voice. Till's all his now, after all; he should make the most of it. To think that there was a time that Till's voice was completely inaccessible, that time when Till went mute for three and a half months; Richard's eyes fill with tears upon thinking of those hellish weeks, and suddenly he needs to hear his lover, just to reassure himself that he's still there.  
  
" _Gott,_ " Till cries out as Richard reaches up and lays bruising kisses upon his neck. This is followed by a soft whimper when the guitarist licks at his adam's apple, such an unexpectedly high-pitched and helpless sound that the younger man can't help but shiver. Such joys of harmony; he can hear the sound of their flesh striking against each other, interweaving with Till's (curiously-melodic) moans and his own heavy breathing to create an intensely erotic medley. He tries to arch his back, eager to receive more of the other's love, but the singer simply presses him down so all he can do is writhe around in ecstatic agony while he slams inside him. He fingers are digging into Till's back, tracing the firm taut skin, finding and lightly stroking the burn scars there; the older man tenses and inhales sharply in a hiss as he feels them being touched, but it's not one of pain. Quite the opposite, in fact. He's still sensitive in those places; Richard is covering Till's scars with his own, his own calloused fingertips pressing against the slightly-rougher remains of burns that have long since faded away, an affirmation of the time they have spent making music together and playing side by side.  
  
"I... love you..." Till breathes, pressing a passionate, heated kiss onto the crook of the other's neck. Richard only moans aloud in response, throwing his head back; he's eager for more and his body's aflame with desire, eyes sliding shut as Till groans in pleasure above him. "oh... I... I love you..."  
  
Richard moans out something in response, but he himself is past listening at that point, too busy being ravished to focus on anything that's not his lover. The guitarist's fingernails dig into Till's back lightly and the older man grunts at the sensation, but leaves it at that with no protests; the sound makes Richard tense, his muscles clenching tightly around the other's member. Unbeknownst to him, Till has been right on the edge for quite some time, and that is the final straw.  
  
"Ri-" Till starts before he throws his head back, crying out as he's given that one final push over the edge. " _Rikh_... ah - _ahh..._ "  
  
He can't even finish saying the other's name. His whole body becomes taut, tensing and shuddering against Richard with the force of his climax. Fascinated, the guitarist stares intently at Till, taking it all in - his expression contorting into a mask of pleasure, his lips parted in a silent moan, every one of his muscles sharply defined - and this sight alone is enough to make him come for the second time that night, milky fluid coating his palm. It's not anywhere near as much as before, and he certainly isn't vocal with it - just closing his eyes and groaning almost inaudibly - but the sensation of him tightening around Till's length again is clearly too much for the older man, who moans weakly before slumping forwards and burying his face into Richard's neck. The younger man mewls softly at feeling the other's hot breath against his skin, and reaches over to hold him tight (smearing his cum over Till's back rather unwittingly) before opening his eyes again.  
  
His near-bestial lust has dissipated and his carnal desires are satisfied for the night; all he feels now, really, is a simple yearning to wash both him and Till off in the bathroom, come back to bed, snuggle into and kiss him all over, and sleep. But right now neither of them have quite the presence of mind to get up or really do anything at all, and as a result they just lie there on the bed, staring at nothing in particular. Nearly a minute of total silence goes by before either makes a move.  
  
"We're..." Richard is the first to speak, still panting softly as he raises his head and examines the situation. Till's still buried in him and he's still letting out small groans of pleasure as the last of the high fades away. "we're... going to have to... wash again..."  
  
"And whose fault is that?" Till growls, but it's in good spirit; he shifts his weight onto his arms again and tries to pull out, only to be stopped when Richard tightens his legs around his hips. "Richard, if you do that I can't - we could both do with a bath..."  
  
"Mmh, no," the younger man moans, pressing Till down so that he remains deep inside. "no bath. Not just yet. Stay with me."  
  
"Now you're making no sense whatsoever."  
  
Richard doesn't say anything, knowing that Till won't refuse him, and that when he has to leave, he'll do so regardless of the younger man's protests. The other's weight is reassuring on top of him, though it won't be long before he'll start to feel much too heavy for Richard to handle; Till stays with him for about a minute more, nuzzling him wordlessly on the neck, before he lifts up the guitarist's legs and pulls himself out. Not much of a problem, he's softened already - but he nevertheless takes a moment to pause and admire the dazed look on Richard's face, his naked body splayed in front of him, before lying down properly onto the sheets. Immediately he is greeted by the younger man clinging to him, a little grin on his lips as he nuzzles into his chest.  
  
" _Warten,_ " Till says gently before stepping off the bed and leaving the room. Richard whimpers, confused and feeling rather abandoned but feeling too weak-kneed to follow; but the older man honestly isn't gone for long, for soon the sound of taps being turned on and water pouring into the bathtub gives away what he's doing. It is barely half a minute before he comes back with the box of Schladerer chocolates in his hands. "I won't miss my chance the second time around! Chocolate, _Lieber?_ "  
  
 _Oh. That's different._  
  
Richard rolls over onto his side and quite happily opens his mouth, letting Till feed him a cherry chocolate. It's sweet and cold from having come straight from the fridge, and he shivers as he lets it melt slowly in his mouth. "Mmm."  
  
"Another success, then. Perhaps this ought to be routine."  
  
"That'd be wonderful, but it'd spoil me something terrible," Richard says, swallowing the chocolate. He gets only a playful grin from Till in response; so (feeling just as full of mischief) he reaches for a chocolate and sets it down on Till's bare stomach. "what about other things? If this pattern carries on I'm fairly sure that I'm going to want nothing other than to eat, sleep and make love all day long. And not necessarily in that order, either."  
  
Till gives him an incredulous look. "You're seriously complaining about that?"  
  
"We're responsible adults with responsibilities," Richard says; the chocolate on Till's stomach is melting already, and sliding downwards, so he bends down to lick it off. "which admittedly do include eating, sleeping, having sex, cleaning chocolate off you and whatnot - but to say that we can live like that for months and years to come is taking it just a little too far, _nein?_ "  
  
"I don't see why not," Till teases, but he doesn't pursue it further as he half-sighs in residual pleasure, feeling Richard lick him clean and kiss him softly on the thighs. "ahh. Hey. That's enough from you. I think it's time we got in the bath. We'll change the sheets before we go to bed, these are soaking."  
  
Richard concurs. Till gets up and reaches out with a hand, helping him sit up and off the bed. The guitarist gets to his feet, before letting out a little whimper as gravity takes hold and Till's cum trickles down his thighs. " _Ohh..._ "  
  
"Careful, Risch-"  
  
"I'm okay," he smiles, and takes Till's hand. "just... feel a little odd, that's all... help me into the bath, _bitte?_ "  
  
"Of course."  
  
They emerge from the room, and Till opens the bathroom door to put Richard in the bath straight away. The bath is still running but wonderfully warm and refreshing; Richard shivers and relaxes as he steps into the tub and sits within it. A little too hot for his tastes right now, he prefers his bath nicely warm and maybe with some oils or bubbles while Till likes it hot with a cold shower right afterwards to cool him down. But he's sure that soon they'll be sharing more baths and showers together and will grow to learn the temperature that suits both of them equally well. He briefly turns on the cold tap to compromise.  
  
"Don't flood the bath, now. I need to get in."  
  
"Well, hurry up, then," Richard says playfully and shifts over so that Till can enter the tub. His bulk adds a significant amount to the height of the water in the bath, but for now it's not overflowing. The guitarist curls up in Till's arms as he leans against the walls of the bathtub and lets out a content, exhausted sigh. Till hugs him close in response, one hand lazily resting on the back of his neck and tracing the contours of the other's muscles with the other hand. He gets a barely audible 'mmm' in response along with what sounds vaguely like a purr.  
  
"You rather fancy yourself a cat now, do you, Richard?" Till teases fondly; Richard blushes a little, then shudders pleasantly as the singer's hand travels to the small of his back, stroking very lightly before moving downwards and squeezing his backside very gently before it comes to rest. Till allows himself one of his genuine, soft smiles upon seeing this, noting how Richard loves being touched and loving the younger man ever more for it - a feeling only heightened when he snuggles closer and plants little butterfly kisses on his chest and shoulders, licking at the few love-bites that he left.  
  
Richard wonders how he must look like now, entangled with Till in a bathtub; neither of them look their usual stoic selves, that's for sure. Perhaps the whole picture looks totally out of character for them both. Perhaps - their bandmates would think this - it looks just as romantic to an outsider as he and Till perceive the situation to be. But either way, they're allowing themselves to be soft, and that's really just the end of it.  
  
He's broken out of his thoughts when Till lightly kisses the back of his head. "Risch?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I was just thinking. Do you remember when you kissed me for the first time?"  
  
The question comes so out of the blue that Richard blinks a little, unsure what answer the older man might be looking for. "... A month ago? When we confessed? How can I forget that?"  
  
"That's not quite what I meant," Till laughs softly, and leans forwards to brush his cheek against Richard's. "it was a long time ago and you _were_ rather filled with emotion. I'm not surprised that you might not have fully registered it," the guitarist frowns at that, now actually beginning to worry as to whether he's done something that he really ought to have not done in the past seventeen years. Come to think of it, he and Till have been in the same room whilst inebriated numerous times - what if he did something during one of those times and he can't remember? But luckily, nothing like that has ever happened, as Till reassures him: "I mean when you first asked me to join Rammstein. When you finally convinced me after days of watching me weave baskets. Do you remember? You held me and kissed me here-" he touches his own cheek lightly, smiling. "-and that was really the first time. Just that it took me nearly two decades to get back to you."  
  
Richard blushes. "Oh," he murmurs, a slow smile rising to his lips at the memory, clear as ever and yet so long ago. "that. I was just so happy. Back then I actually thought I might have offended you a little, for a moment or two."  
  
"Believe me. I genuinely wasn't. More complimented, if anything - neither of us were particularly physically affectionate back then," he sighs wistfully, and turns slightly to allow Richard to lean back more comfortably. "... I did think of returning that kiss, you know. Perhaps if I'd done so, this relationship would have started earlier."  
  
"The wait's what made it more than worthwhile," the guitarist says. "like you said. I don't think there's much that can part us, now that we've come this far," the water is hot and pleasant around them, and when Till reaches to turn the tap off, the resulting silence only amplifies the sensation more. "I love you, Till," he breathes quietly as the older man embraces him from behind.  
  
" _Ich auch, Richard._ "  
  
They don't say anything more after that, more willing to just stay in silence and enjoying their dazed post-coital bliss. Richard stretches his body slightly, the ache in his backside somewhat diminished by the warm water, and lays back to rest his head on Till's chest. Till's also resting his arms on the sides of the tub; he looks, considers for a moment, and gently places his left hand in the other's, holding it tight. "You know," he says. "it's been said a few times before - but when I think of it... there were many points in our relationship where we could have taken it a lot further, I think. After I divorced, when you became depressed, when you went mute... you helped me, I helped you. The night when you finally talked to me after months of being silent - I wanted nothing more than to kiss you, or to confess to you. I still can't believe how nice you were to me then, even when I'd been such an asshole," he pauses and smiles a little before resuming. "but if we hadn't waited... you're right, it would have started earlier. But there wouldn't have been any guarantee that it'd have lasted, when we wouldn't have known how turbulent our lives would be. Do you think so too?"  
  
Till doesn't answer. When Richard blinks out the strands of hair from his eyes, he sees through the settling steam that the older man's actually dozed off in the warmth, spent and completely content with how their night's turned out. The guitarist laughs a little upon seeing this; he's more amused by this than he ever thought he would be, but something about the way Till's body has relaxed completely and the way his chest is heaving softly makes him feel protective as well. Reaching for the washcloth, he works up a lather between it and his hands with some soap; careful not to jostle Till around too much, he gently soaps up the other's body, focusing on his large shoulders, back and chest. "Ist gut, ja?" he murmurs amongst the light splashing of the water, knowing that his lover can't respond - but from the little smile that's drifted onto his lips, Richard rather fancies that Till's enjoying the attention even in his sleep.  
  
He washes himself first and then scoops up handfuls of water to gently rinse the singer's body free of lather, blowing off bubbles from the back of his hand (and feeling an almost childlike pleasure from the act) and planting little kisses on Till's skin as he washes each part of his body clean. He brushes over burn marks, healed cuts that he attained from various mishaps onstage, and the long torn scar on his stomach that ended Till's career as a swimmer; when he touches it, the older man lets out a little purring sound as opposed to the frown that Richard was expecting. When that's done, Richard curls up next to him in the tub, nuzzling lightly into his chest and lazily reaching down to caress and massage the other's knees.  
  
Till mumbles slightly as he does so, shifting in the tub and curling an arm around Richard's body. The younger man smiles and buries his face in the other's arms, inhaling lavender soap and Till's sensual musk, letting himself finally relax as the warm water soothes his muscles. He could quite happily stay like this forever. Closing his eyes, he plants the softest, laziest kisses upon the other's chest, feeling himself slip into a lethargic state. They've stopped moving around for the most part, and the tap has long since stopped dripping; there is nothing audible except for the sound of their breathing, synced with each heartbeat. Just like at night when they're sharing a bed.  
  
Richard has fallen into the lightest of catnaps when he is roused again with a soft kiss and a lick on the cheek. He opens his eyes to Till, who's looking down at him with his usual faintly-melancholy expression that he now knows indicates deep thoughtfulness; the singer raises one hand and runs the back of his fingers gently down Richard's cheek before taking a deep breath.  
  
"Richard?"  
  
"Yes, Till?"  
  
The older man hesitates, and for a moment he looks oddly submissive and nervous. "... _Heirate mich?_ "  
  
The tension breaking, Richard laughs and closes his eyes in bliss as Till strokes his face again; those are the two words that he's longed to hear for over ten years now. "I never thought you'd ask," he whispers. "took you long enough."  
  
Then he kisses Till heartily, affirming his answer with his entire body.    
  
\-----  
  
 **Epilogue**  
  
The city at half nine in the morning is freshly-white, nearly a week and half into the new year, and the Berlin winter is still flourishing in the streets. The bustling traffic of the morning has died down for the time being, and for now everything is calm. Till Lindemann walks down the pavement with a paper cup of coffee in his hand; having just bought it from a standing cafe, he's now trying to find a place to sit. He sighs quietly, his exhale fading into mist, and pauses briefly to adjust his briefcase before heading towards a conveniently-deserted bench. It's covered with a thin layer of snow, but it'll have to do. He reaches out with a gloved hand and dusts the surface, clearing a spot, before putting down the briefcase and letting himself sit down and relax.  
  
He's been travelling all morning, and a fair amount of the night as well. He could use this. The coffee is fine, if a little too sweet for even his tastes, but in this cold it's probably advantageous to have it that way. Out of his pocket a folded envelope falls; he quickly picks it up, looking mildly distressed at the possibility that the snow might have soaked it through, but luckily it is still intact. He makes as if to put it back for a moment - stops - then after a moment's worth of hesitation, opens the envelope.  
  
Two small pages of paper fall out. They're dated to only about five days ago, and the letter itself arrived three days back, but both pages are already somewhat well-worn from having been read so many times. Once more can't hurt, Till tells himself, and sips out of his cup again before putting it down (the heat from the cup melting a circle in the snow) and casting his eyes back to the pages; little does he know that last year, when Richard was making his own journey back home, he did something similar with one of the older man's letters. Over the years their paths have crossed multiple times, they have incorporated so much of each other's mannerisms, and they'll never quite get the full scope of it. But Till doesn't mind.  
  
They have years from now on to learn as much as they can, if all goes well, after all.  
  
 _Mein Till,  
  
I know you haven't been gone for very long at all. As I write this I'm aware that this is only the second day that you've been away from me - and that a letter from me is the last that you'd expect when you're only in Leipzig with your family right now. Trust me, if our schedules didn't conflict, and if your visit there wasn't going to be marked with other scheduled events from both of our parts anyway, I'd have come with you or joined you there. I'm writing this as quickly as possible and sending it by first-class post, and I hope it reaches you there before you have to leave. There is only so much that text messages and calls over the phone can manage to say.  
  
Wish you were here. It is a lovely winter day and I sit here and feel rather empty knowing that we didn't even get to celebrate your birthday before you left. The snow is soft-falling, unusual for this year, and the dulcamara of memory is not quite enough. Without you I know the impoverishment of self and 'Seemann' seems to me only a simple ballad. And we can't have that.  
  
So come home. The bed's too big! Make excuses. Say that there's been an emergency and that you have to return home. That you have other events to attend that you can't exactly miss. That you're in urgent requirement of surgery or some sort of medical procedure. (Like a piercing, though you wouldn't tell them that, shh! Your piercings are immensely attractive. I certainly would remain a very happy man if you had one or two more.) Anything, as long as you are back with me.  
  
Paul sent us both some photos of the first leg of our tour. I think he also added a message about how our antics were rather obvious, even onstage. I can't say I'm yet at the stage where I can look at you without feeling the urge to kiss, hug or pounce you - but I certainly must try. Flake's also coming with some late birthday greetings at some point this week, I think - he should be coming when you're back, of course, and you know how he is. Strangely eager to see us being affectionate, even moreso than the others. Bless Flake, what would we have done without him during all of those years?  
  
And - meanwhile, Till, your lover is so uxorious that absence can't make your dearest Richard's heart grow fonder. I'm keeping the bed warm for you. Please send Gitta, Nele and Fritz my regards and tell him that his great-uncle sends hugs and treats for him. (I checked with Nele before.) I'll put this in the post now.  
  
I eagerly look forward to your return xxx  
  
Dein Richard. _  
  
Till smiles and smoothes the letter beneath his hand, soon lifting it up and sensing the faint scent of his lover embedded within the pages. "Uxorious," he repeats to himself, and laughs softly - Richard never fails to amuse or surprise him at the best of times. Carefully, he folds up the letter and places it back in his pocket as gently as possible; a few more sips of coffee, and he'll be off. He has two places in mind to visit before he goes home, and he admittedly doesn't know when either are meant to be opening. Till fishes out his phone from the other pocket and dials a number that he stored in there several days ago, putting it to his ear; the call goes through, but nothing but the signal tone can be heard. No one's at the other end.  
  
"Well," he mumbles to himself as he stands back up, taking one last sip of the coffee before tossing it in the bin. "that's convenient."  
  
But there's nothing to do now but check. His shoes sound on the pavement with muffled clicks from the thin layer of snow on top of it as he crosses the main road - holding his hand up and nodding his thanks to the driver who stops to let him pass - and into a smaller side street where he briefly stops and revises his route. Out of his two destinations, only one is an imperative, but if he went to that one first he would have to double back to visit the other location. He can't really think of why either wouldn't be open at this time of the morning, though, and it's also a weekday so all shops will remain open for hours. Weighing up all these factors, he decides that nothing will really change if he spent some time at the first, closer location; thus he turns around, and makes his way to the body piercing studio famous around the area for polite staff and excellent work ethic.  
  
It takes him five minutes to get there. The large window is cleaned, the view inside perfectly visible, and the door has an 'Open' sign with a list of opening times for each day printed beneath; by all means they should be opening just about now. " _Hallo?_ " he calls out softly, and tries the door. It's locked. He frowns briefly, but before he can try again he sees someone move inside and peers in closer; it's a girl (pale with long hair) wearing the uniform of the studio, sweeping the floors with a broom and making very clean work of it.  
  
" _Hallo,_ " he tries again, and knocks on the door. This gets her attention, and she spins around, staring at him. "are you open?"  
  
The girl says something, but it's muffled through the glass door. She realizes this herself within seconds, and hastily pushes open the door. "We are!" she exclaims; her voice is bright as she sweeps away her long dark hair from her eyes. " _tut mir leid,_ customers don't generally come at this hour - but we are open, yes. You're our first for the day. Can I help you, Herr?"  
  
"Yes," he says. "I must apologize, I don't have an appointment-"  
  
"- Oh, that's all right for now, I'm sure we can work with it-"  
  
"But I have been traveling for quite some hours, and I do have something I'd like to ask, _bitte_ ," he says, and is led inside. The shop is very clean; she quickly sweeps the area around the door and stacks a few boxes up - 'I'll be with you in just a moment, Herr, just cleaning up the place' - while Till stands and looks around curiously at the decor. The studio itself isn't decorated very elaborately, but he knows that this can only be a good thing; what good is there in a body piercing studio that might not be able to clear up stains or will only end up harboring dust in its nooks and crannies? The reception desk is a classy black colour, smooth and elegant with several framed awards and certificates of hygiene and excellence hanging up on the walls. There is a photo on the desk that's framed in classy black to match the decor. A frosted-glass partition blocks a large amount of the view from the reception and shop window, but Till can still see that that's where the individual piercing/tattoo stations are. The floor is tiled with what appears to be pure white porcelain or granite, and there are a row of glass shelves along the wall that display some simple types of jewelry. Out of interest he goes and glances at a few - rings and barbells are the extent of what is shown, though they are of high quality and polished to the utmost extreme with a few carefully-chosen oils and disinfectants displayed alongside them. Most of the jewelry are a silver colour, although some come in shades of blue, purple, black, and red. "do you have more of those at the back?" he asks.  
  
"We do. The fancier ones we stock in the back room - I see you already have piercings," the girl says, nodding towards him a smile; she puts away the broom in the corner and returns to her position behind the reception desk, straightening her uniform. "we have several different styles of barbells, rings and such, if you would be interested in new jewelry..."  
  
"I'm actually quite interested in a new piercing," Till responds, and she nods thoughtfully. "preferably another one on the eyebrows - I'm thinking of two spots that would be possible, and I'm not sure which ones might look best."  
  
"Would you want that done today? If so, it might be a little hard to accommodate you right now, it's going to be a rather busy day. You might have to come back later on."  
  
Till shakes his head. "I'd like to think about it, mostly. Is it possible to just mark the spots out so that I might see? I promise to not take up too much of your time."  
  
"Oh, that's a little different. That can be done right now, if you wish. I do have to confirm a few things, though: you have no medical conditions, and you're not under the influence of alcohol?" the man responds that he isn't. "I didn't think that you were, especially not at this hour. Policy. Please follow me."  
  
His coat is taken and hung up at the back, and he is led to one of the cubicles; it's small, but nothing is messed up and there is enough room for the artist to move around freely. He's asked to sit on a folding chair, and does so; the girl meanwhile goes to the sink in the corner and washes her hands thoroughly with sanitizer, scrubbing below her nails (painted a glossy, metallic blue at closer glance) and all over the backs and palms of her hands. They are soon dried with disposable paper towels, and then she puts on latex gloves before fetching a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "I'll need to wipe the area around your eyebrows. Could you brush your fringe back?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Soon he feels something cool rub over his eyebrows, and smiles a little as the alcohol evaporates from his skin, leaving a cool tingling feeling. "Thank you, again," he says as she pulls out a small purple marker; she pauses and glances at him curiously. "I am on somewhat of a schedule as well, it's very kind of you to do this."  
  
" _Kein Problem_. Everyone's busy. But no one's due in for a few minutes and it won't take very long, just marking it out - actual piercing is something else, but we can discuss that later. Where would you like those piercings?" he points further inwards into his left eyebrow, and she gets to work. "so where else are you headed to today?"  
  
"A jewelry shop. The one down by _Mohrenstrasse_. I bought something there and asked them to hold it for me. I should pick it up - _danke,_ and I was thinking of either there or a piercing on the opposite eyebrow, a bit further out - there you go - but I called earlier and nobody picked up," he pauses worriedly, frowning unwittingly before hurriedly relaxing his expression again. He can't really make this girl's job harder for her. "would you happen to know it?"  
  
"Of course!" she says cheerfully, and steps back to scrutinize his face shape for a moment. "beautiful selection. Rather expensive for me for most times of the year, but I do like to look at the displays. Nice customer service too," a dot is placed slightly above his eyebrow. "I know they open earlier than we do - at nine. They just might not have picked up the phone that one time, is all. I'm sure they must be open, so you can pick up what you might have bought without any problems at all. A treat for someone?"  
  
"For my lover," Till says, and can't hold back his grin as he says it. "I have been away for a few days."  
  
"Nice," she grins, and shows him his reflection in the mirror. "there you go - the purple dots are where they'll be, if you were getting it done today. I quite like the one on the opposite side myself, though if you wanted one slightly further in from your left eyebrow we could also do that. So she's waiting for you right now, I understand."  
  
"He," Till says gazing at his own reflection and letting out a contemplative 'hmm' in response. "we have been good friends for over twenty years - and we got together last year."  
  
"Ah, excuse me. _He_ must be waiting for you," the woman corrects herself; there's no change in her cheerful tone of voice. That certainly makes Till a lot more happier. "I imagine it must be smooth-sailing, if you have known each other for so long... that'd be absolutely wonderful. What do you think of either piercing, Herr?"  
  
The man smiles. "It is smooth, for most part. He said that he was rather 'uxorious' for me."  
  
"Isn't that a term for men who're longing for their wives?"  
  
"I suppose that I am the wife in this relationship," Till half-jokes, and then he and the girl both laugh. "to answer your question. I'd quite like the one on the inside of the left eyebrow - but I do regret to say that I don't think I'd be able to have it now, I do need some time to visit that shop before I go home, my lover would never let me hear the end of it otherwise. Nor would I think it'd be polite to force my way in, when you doubtless have appointments to get through."  
  
"That's fair enough," she nods, and reaches for the bottle of rubbing alcohol, wetting a cotton ball with it and handing it to him. "to rub off the dots, Herr. They're quite cute, admittedly, but I don't imagine you'd want to have them all day. Would you like to fill out the paperwork in advance, in case you do decide to come back very soon?"  
  
Till dabs at his eyebrows, seeing the purple marker smudge off neatly onto the wad of cotton and nodding at his reflection. "I think I'll go through it when I come back. I'll make sure to call and make an appointment afterwards."  
  
"Of course. Here's my business card. Ask for Rachel. I'll get to you quickly, Herr."  
  
They emerge from the cubicle, and Till adjusts his tie briefly before putting his coat back on. " _Vielen Dank,_ " he says, and pauses. "how much would a single eyebrow piercing have cost, here?"  
  
"27 Euros, Herr. About 35 Euros for a double."  
  
He smiles, and takes out a 5-Euro note from his wallet. "That makes things a lot easier. Please accept this. A tip for being so helpful."  
  
Rachel blinks in surprise and glances up at him quickly, suddenly looking conflicted. "But I can't accept this, I didn't... it was just a brief marking, nothing more-"  
  
"I insist, it was no problem at all. You deserved it," he says, and only then does she accept the tip with grace; he watches her put it away, and then his gaze drifts to the framed photo on the counter that he hasn't paid much attention to until now. "... they're nice-looking dogs. Are they yours?"  
  
"Oh, them!" she perks up considerably more at this, adjusting the frame to give Till a better look at the photo. "my two dogs. I've had them for two years. They're both male, they're very close to each other as you can see... the black one's _Schatten_ , 'Shadow', and the white one's _Schneeflocke_ , 'Snowflake' - but he growls whenever I call him that, so I compromise with 'Snow' instead..."  
  
Till peers into the photo - the white dog is contentedly sprawled over the black one, both of them sleeping. "They're quite affectionate, I suppose?"  
  
"They are," she beams. She's clearly very attached to them. "sometimes they're a little impatient when waiting for food. Snow nearly got into a box of chocolates the other day and got ever so scolded for it, the silly thing - but they're wonderful. I wouldn't give them away for the world."  
  
He nods - and then looks briefly at the young woman, feeling an odd sense of deja vu. "... Have we... seen each other before? Outside of this studio?"  
  
"I don't believe that we have?"  
  
"Hmm," he says, not completely convinced - but his business here is done, and he should be moving on. No use holding up a perfectly polite young woman who has work to do. " _vielen Dank._ A visit to that store - and I believe I'll be heading back. _Schönen Tag!_ "  
  
Rachel smiles brightly, her long black hair glistening in the winter sun. "Of course, Herr," she says, and pulls open the door. "please have a good day, and I wish you luck with your _Freund!_ "  
  
He waves goodbye as he leaves. Maybe he'll come back, very soon, for another piercing or two and to thank the young lady with her two dogs more properly. But for now it'll have to wait. He takes a deep breath and adjusts his coat before turning a corner and towards the jewelry shop, the last stop in his journey before he can head back home.  
  
\-----  
  
It is eleven o'clock when he finally comes back; the apartment is still and quiet when he unlocks the door and steps inside. A whole week, away from Richard - the longest they've been apart since they started living together. "Richard?" he calls out softly. No response. He must still be sleeping; not too surprising, because when Till enters the kitchen he can see that two candles have been set up, both burnt down to the halfway point and probably extinguished only hours ago. There's also a boxed-and-yet-unopened cake on the table, tied with an elegant silver bow (and when he glances into the transparent top, he can see that it's probably a layered chocolate cake), with two clean plates and forks stacked near it. Richard must have been waiting for him all night to come home. Feeling a slight pang in his heart, Till shrugs off his coat, places his briefcase on the floor, and glances at Richard's bedroom - only to find, much to surprise, that the door is open and the man isn't there.  
  
"... Hmm?"  
  
Turning away, he walks over to his own bedroom and turns the doorknob, pushing open the door. What he sees there makes him breathe out a sigh of relief, and feel a burst of joy at the same time.  
  
Richard is indeed there, curled up in his sheets, doubtless having wanted to be near Till in the only way he could. He's dead to the world; he doesn't stir or even make a sound even as the older man tiptoes inside. "I'm home," he murmurs - and stands there, transfixed, staring at his lover with the utmost fondness in his eyes.  
  
One of his feet are poking out beneath the sheets; Till smiles and lightly tickles the sole of his foot, making Richard curl his toes, squirm and let out a sleepy 'Mmm' before adjusting the covers again and hiding them once more. This makes Till chuckle; he'd like nothing more than to crawl under the covers with Richard, wake him up, embrace him, and maybe start re-acquainting their bodies to the other's after his long absence. But there are more pressing matters at hand, at least while there is some time remaining before lunch; he settles for stroking lightly over the blanket and feeling the curve of the other's backside beneath his hand before he stands up and quietly leaves the room.  
  
When he walks to the kitchen, seeking to cook Richard a quick breakfast, he finds that a shorthaired tabby with orange stripes is curled up in the sink. " _Aus!_ " he says gently, waking up the cat and shooing it gently to the floor; the tabby stirs and stares at him - green eyes meeting green - before it purrs and hops to the floor, rubbing its sleek body around his legs in a gesture of welcome. Till leans down to pet it gently, its purr already making him feel as if he's been home for a long time; its food bowl is empty, though, so he takes care of that and lets their now two-month adopted cat tuck into its food before resuming Richard's breakfast.  
  
There's an apple that needs eating, and some flour, eggs and butter that also need to be replenished. Apple pancakes it is. Soon the apple is neatly sliced into thin pieces, while Till combines eggs, flour, baking powder, sugar and salt in a bowl and blends in a cup of milk. It should be a simple, but relatively straightforward breakfast; soon the apple slices are sugared, sprinkled with cinnamon and nutmeg, and the batter is poured over the slices. The tabby, having finished its breakfast since, wanders over to gaze up at him with much curiosity; it sniffs the air and raises itself on its hind legs, mewling softly and pawing at his leg.  
  
"Go on, then," Till sighs, but smiles fondly nonetheless. The cat is usually somewhat more inclined towards Richard because the guitarist is fond of brushing and cuddling it, and also he tends to give into its playful begging for food more often - but it's nice to see that he has been missed, at least. He dabs off a little bit of the batter from the bowl with a finger and holds it out, and the cat licks it off with a raspy tongue. "I always thought that cats weren't capable of tasting sweetness. You're an odd one."  
  
"Meow!"  
  
"I do hope you've kept Richard company while I was away."  
  
The cat circles him and rubs itself against his legs. Till takes that as a positive answer, and lightly scratches the cat between its ears before he fishes out the first pancake, placing it on a clean white plate. There is silence for a further ten minutes as he finishes up the batter and cleans up as he goes; soon the plate is laden with three pancakes, which he drizzles with sugar and a squeeze of lemon and puts on a tray alongside a glass of orange juice.  
  
 _Looks good to me,_ he thinks, and glances at the time. Eleven thirty-five. All good.  
  
With 'breakfast' tray in hand, he re-enters his bedroom, chuckling heartily as he sees that in his absence, the guitarist has almost completely buried himself beneath the covers. Only the top of his head and his sleep-mussed hair are visible on the pillow. Putting the tray down securely on the side table (after neatly pushing away Richard's phone, watch and book and stacking them up), he leans over and gently pulls down the covers to the other's neck, seeing his face softened in sleep. The guitarist's eyelashes, long and dark, flutter softly against the cream-coloured sheets as if to wake; but he doesn't, and carries on sleeping, oblivious to his now-beaming lover standing in front of him.  
  
It's about time that was fixed. Till leans forwards, staying ever so quiet, and presses a slow, soft kiss onto Richard's lips before pulling back just as gently. From his pocket he takes a small satin-lined box, opens it, and lays it alongside the tray - two elegant gold stud earrings lie there, his present and semi-proposal to Richard. Today is the day.  
  
As Till watches, he thinks for a moment that perhaps his lover is in too heavy a sleep and that more effort will be needed to wake him up. However, this remains only a fleeting thought as soon Richard lets out a quiet sigh; slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes begin to open. They're dull and glazed with sleep at first glance, and for a moment the guitarist just stares ahead, not really seeing anything; but then he blinks a couple of times, his world slowly coming into focus. The cat meows by the doorway and trots inside, hopping up to the bed, and the singer lets it do so this one time. Till grins and helps him back to the surface of consciousness, reaching out and gently stroking the top of his head and down to his ear, where he caresses the yet-empty earlobe softly with an index finger as his lover's eyes finally lock with his.  
  
This is where he belongs, next to his lover, and even though their story in words may come to end with the next few - true is true, and as Till stares into the other's beautiful blue eyes he is eternally grateful. Finally - after such a long time - he is happy, and he has had the chance to voice it fully.  
  
It is time to turn the page. He is home.  
  
"Richard," Till whispers - just before the guitarist lets out a cry of utter joy and tugs him down onto the bed, kissing him heartily. "Richard, _meine Liebe_ , it's morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cat's name is Mango! 
> 
> Four days past Christmas due to the holiday season being wretchedly busy - but what do you know! The final chapter of 'Vision im Spiegel' and its Epilogue is up, completing the story! I hope the sex scene was just as beautifully steamy as you all expected after that cliffhanger on the third chapter. But more importantly, with the completion of Vision im Spiegel I am proud to announce: the Silenceverse is now over. Yes, this is the end. I imagine I'll write a few drabbles and mention the 'verse elsewhere now and then, but from this point onwards, no more side stories or main fics will be written for it. After a full year of Till and Richard's journeys, it is time to let it go.
> 
> If 'Silence' was about years of slow acceptance and establishment of trust, 'Vision im Spiegel' is a look at their fulfilled desires over three very detailed days. The epilogue was meant to take place in January 2012, around the 11th or 12th; Till left for Leipzig on the morning of his birthday, and for a whole week Richard waited, buying a cake and being kept company by their cat. I rather imagine that adopting a cat together as a couple is a fairly-significant sign of stability in a relationship. As for what happens to them afterwards - that is no longer up to me to decide. Whether they marry, how they manage to carry on, whether they move to a different area - it is now all up to you. All stories have an ending, but the good ones have an end that nevertheless leaves a path leading out from it, ready for further exploration if need be. In that sense, all good stories never end.
> 
> I like to think that the Silenceverse has been one such journey.
> 
> Thank you, ~NightCatty, for being the initial inspiration. I could not have done it without that one picture.  
> Thank you, *withinmeloveresides1, for being with me since the very first chapter and being my friend and sincere reviewer.  
> Thank you, Angel, for providing the point where 'Silence' became more than just several thousand words of Richard angsting. Thank you, and I love you dearly, if you are reading this somehow.  
> Thank you, =Edgirl; you consider 'Silence' precious to you, and just for that I know that I will never regret writing it in any shape or form. I hope you enjoyed your cameo; I have tried to portray you as the girl that you would love to be. (Till's deja vu is justified; she is the girl shown walking the dogs in Ch. 3 in one very short sentence, and the one in the studio!)  
> And to everyone who has ever reviewed, or read through even a single chapter of the Silenceverse: every single pageview and comment aided in my journey, and looking back at all the stats, I'm rather overwhelmed. Thank you for the love. Thank you for the support. I love all of you dearly.
> 
> Until we meet in another ficverse. I'll sign off now.


End file.
